Hidden Moments In Time
by speaknowbeloud
Summary: Random one-shots! Spoilers from 1x01 up to whatever the newest episode is. Moments that weren't on screen and what-ifs. Mainly B&B, because...do I have to explain?
1. Sleep Tight

He woke to the smell of breakfast.

Rolling over in bed, he stretched himself out over the covers. It was no surprise to him, really, that the soft warmth she emanated was missing. He was smelling breakfast, after all. Which meant she was making it, right?

He rolled again, until he nearly fell off the edge. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and narrowed them at the clock. Then he rubbed his eyes again.

2:47 A.M.

Okay, he knew she woke up early. She always woke up early. But never _this_ early. She usually woke up at six, then dragged him out of bed. And anyways, it was _Saturday._

He groaned, stretching his legs and following the smell. To hell with routine. He knew their routine was shaky at best – not only because of their jobs, but because of her pregnancy. There were days when she'd wake up at five thirty, only to fall asleep at the table. There were other weekends when she'd wake up at noon and spend the rest of the day exploding with energy.

But this had never happened before.

He walked into the kitchen slowly, trying not to scare her. The first thing he noticed was the smell: it was so strong he didn't know how he'd taken so long to wake up. Then he noticed the 'assembly line', marching from the stovetop to the table. Pancakes and eggs and bacon and syrup, cups of coffee and slices of toast.

Lastly, he noticed her. She was standing at the stove, flipping bacon and pancakes and eggs, moving jerkily. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her swollen belly strained against her nightgown. Her eyes were red and tired, her lips pale and thin.

His heart burst with love and pain for her, with her. He stepped forward carefully, steps loud enough for her to know he was there but soft enough not to startle her. He stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, wincing at the tenseness he found there. He dropped his hands, reaching around her and turning off the stovetop.

She turned around quickly, bumping into him, eyes wide and nearly fearful. "What are you doing?"

He reached up and cupped her face, pressing his lips against her forehead. "It's three in the morning," he whispered. "Come back to bed."

"I can't," she said, her voice strained. "I have to make breakfast."

He looked over his shoulder pointedly at the stacks of food on the table. "We have enough food for the rest of the week."

"No, no," she murmured. "I have to do this. I have to."

He slipped his hands around to rest on her lower back, and then gently pulled them both to a chair. He sat down, pulling her between his legs and pressing his hands against her belly. "Sweetheart," he said softly, loving the taste of the pet name on his lips, "tell me what's wrong."

She tried feebly to pull herself out of his grasp. "I'm..." Her hands rested down on his, and she leaned down to press her forehead on his, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I'm so tired."

"Then come back to bed," he murmured against her lips.

"I can't." The tears picked up their pace. "I can't sleep. She keeps waking me up. And I'm hungry. So hungry. And so tired..."

His heart broke at her voice, and he stood up carefully, gently pulling her towards their bedroom. He switched off the lights as they went, then deposited her carefully on their bed. She stretched out, running her hands over her belly, still sniffling. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead before running back into the kitchen and grabbing one of the plates off the table.

_On second thought, _he mused, _she should probably eat something healthier._

Quick as he could, he grabbed a tub of yogurt and dropped some into a bowl, added a healthy dose of bananas and oatmeal, and grabbed two spoons. Taking the steps two at a time, he walked carefully into their room, all ready to spoon-feed her if he had to (although that was an 'alpha-male tendency' and would not go well with her).

But she was already asleep, curled on her side, cheek pressed against the pillow.

He smiled, lips curling upwards, and put the bowl and spoons on the night table before crawling beside her and wrapping one arm protectively around her. His palm slipped over her skin until he felt the small push of his daughter against him.

Smiling into her hair, he gently pushed her back.

There was nothing better than knowing they had a life together.

Nothing better than a life with her.


	2. Hand Painting

**A/N:**** I've read a lot of stories where Angela babysits Christine, so I wondered what would happen if Brennan decided to help her back and offered to babysit Michael. So here goes!**

**DISCLAIMER: No, they're not mine.  
**

* * *

He barely had time to walk in the door before the voice screeched from upstairs.

"IT'S DADDY!"

Chuckling, he locked the door behind him. He only barely had time to put down his briefcase and crouch down before a tiny body barrelled around the corner and into his arms.

"Daddy!"

Laughing, he picked up the squirming bundle and twirled her around. "Hey Chrissy!"

She giggled, pressing her face into his shoulder before clawing to be let down. "Come see what Michael and I did!"

Booth struggled not to laugh. When Brennan had originally offered to take care of _both_ Michael and Christine, on the very day he had to go out of town to work, he'd been skeptical it was a good plan. But Angela was desperate to get out of town with Hodgins, and no one else was available.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he'd asked her last night as he drew her into his arms and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "I could call in and stay home and help you."

Brennan had lifted her chin, amused. "Angela takes care of both Michael and Christine all the time. I'll be fine!"

He had reluctantly agreed. It was good for her, he'd told himself. He remembered those days when she was pregnant and scared that she wouldn't be a good mom, and now here she was: babysitting two three-year-olds while five months pregnant herself. Her insecurities back then had been uncalled for, anyways: although Chrissy loved spending time with her dad, it was clear that she had inherited her mother's rational, scientific personality, and the two got along better than any mother and child he'd ever seen.

He adjusted her weight on his hip as he walked up the stairs, absentmindedly listening to her chattering. She'd wrapped her arms around his neck and was going on and on about how she and Michael had spent the day, and about how Mommy let them do things that Angela didn't.

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd mixed the two up. It seemed doubtful that Angela was stricter than Brennan, especially as he remembered the last time Angela had babysat the two: Chrissy had come home with sparkles in her hair, paint on her hands and face, and a bag filled with clothes ruined by their water fight.

He turned the corner into Christine's playroom, trying not to laugh at the sight. Brennan had spread newspaper around the whole room, and Michael was painting with his hands and feet on the papers taped to the wall. Brennan herself was seated in the middle of the room, looking disheveled. Her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, her overalls stretched over her abdomen and the bottoms of her feet covered in blue paint.

She turned as he walked in, and he laughed at the paint splattered over her clothes and the two identical pink handprints on her cheeks. She narrowed her eyes at his laugh, and he suppressed it in hopes of stopping her from going into a nervous breakdown. He'd learned from her last pregnancy what hormones could do to her.

He put Chrissy down, watching as she immediately dipped her hands in paint and ran over to Michael. Brennan stood up, brushing herself off, and walked over to his side. Resting both her hands on his right shoulder, she leaned in and whispered in his ear: "You think I look funny? You should see the paint on your suit."

Shocked, he looked down at himself. There was a footprint on his abdomen where Christine had wrapped her legs around him, and he shrugged off his jacket to find handprints and a second footprint.

Brennan giggled, then reached up and swiped paint off the side of his neck. "I'll buy you a new one," she chuckled.

"I don't need a new one-"

Brennan wrapped her arms around him, pulling him flush to her and pressing her lips to his. Their kiss was sweet but quick, and she pulled away, still giggling, to allow him to look down at his now-completely-ruined suit. He narrowed his eyes at her, a slow, threatening smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, Bones," he said, taking a slow step towards her, "you'd better _run."_

She shrieked, running as fast as she could towards the two kids. She picked up both, and they shrieked with laughter along with her as she backed into the wall and slid down, hiding her face in her belly.

"Protect me!" she cried to the kids, and they, still doubling over with laughter, created a barrier in front of her as Booth stalked predatorily towards them.

She peeked, watching as he stood in front of them. The two kids, although laughing, looked quite protective, standing shoulder to shoulder and holding their chins high. In front of them, Booth was crouched, hands held out, looking like a jaguar about to pounce.

He threw himself at Christine, his fingers wrapping around her waist and tickling her to the point where she could hardly breathe. She fell into Brennan's lap, and he reached for Michael, who had tried to run. Laughing, he collapsed beside her, pulling Michael into his lap and giving him a huge hug.

The kids were easily distracted, wiggling out of their grasps and running back towards the paints. Booth wrapped an arm around Brennan's waist, pressed a hand to her belly, and leaned in for another quick kiss.

"Welcome home," she whispered, and his lips curled into a smile. There really was no place better than home.


	3. Everyday Miracles

**A/N:**** I'm feeling inspired today. Lucky for you guys, that means two chapters in one day!**

**DISCLAIMER: Joy is my own creation, but the rest of them aren't mine.**

* * *

Christine peered down at her little sister's face. Joy Booth slept in her mother's arms, tiny eyelids fluttering and tiny lips parted.

"She's small," Christine announced proudly, her tone that of someone who's just made a scientific discovery.

Booth laughed softly, unable to speak in a tone above a whisper around the presence of his youngest daughter. "Yeah, she is," he murmured, throwing Brennan another love-and- pride-soaked smile.

She smiled back, one hand hovering just above her daughter, aching to touch her but unwilling to wake her up.

Christine bounced in her father's lap, trying to wriggle herself closer to her mother as Booth pulled her back. She'd been ecstatic at being a part of her mother's labor, holding her hand tightly as Brennan breathed: in through her nose, out through her mouth. Unlike Christine's birth, where she'd unabashedly screamed at Booth, she had been conscious of her daughter standing beside her and was unwilling to scare her.

She hadn't been expecting to go into labor, as she wasn't due for another three days. She and Christine were playing at the park when her first contraction had hit, and like when she'd had Christine, her labor had been quick and sudden. Luckily for her, a woman nearby had noticed her doubling over in pain and had made a quick call to an ambulance as Brennan called Booth. He, of course, had freaked.

"Look," he'd said, trying to sound calm for her, "I'll be there in five minutes, tops. Ask the lady who called the ambulance to take care of Christine. Sit down and breathe, okay? Just breathe."

She had tried to follow his instructions, to no avail. She had sat down and took deep breaths like instructed, but Christine screamed whenever someone tried to pull her away. Instead, she curled into her mother's side, pressing her cheek to her mother's belly and trying to sound like her father. "I'm here," she'd say, the words strange on her tongue, as she didn't understand why stating the obvious was comforting. But when her mother had pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her hair, she'd repeated the words over and over in hopes of helping.

Things had gone quickly after that. Booth had arrived seconds after the ambulance, and after loading Brennan in, had gotten into his car with Christine and followed the ambulance to the hospital, where Angela was already waiting. She'd sat outside, being a stronghold and a distraction for Christine: she provided coloring books and toys for her amusement, and whenever Chrissy remembered her mother and her brow furrowed in direct imitation of her father, Angela would pull her into her lap and tell her about when she'd been born. Chrissy loved that story. And a little over an hour later, Booth had pulled her out of Angela's arms, twirled her around, and announced, with the widest grin on his face, that she had a baby sister named Joy.

Now, she sat with her legs dangling off Booth's lap, enthralled by the sister in her mother's arms. She'd quietened, her mind already drifting towards a future with a sister. She imagined teaching her sister how to mix the colors in her toy chemistry set, how to set up science experiments with her mother, how to convince their daddy to take them to the park. But then a sliver of insecurity set in, and she crawled closer to her father.

"Daddy?" she whispered, following his cues.

"Yeah, Chrissy?" he whispered back, smoothing her hair.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Do you still love me?"

He pulled her closer, expression shocked. "Of course I still love you!"

She gave him a hug before wriggling out of his grasp and crawling onto the bed. Brennan adjusted easily, shifting Joy to her left arm and wrapping her right one around Christine.

"Mommy, do you still love me?"

Brennan pressed a kiss to Christine's forehead. "Let me tell you something. When I first met your father, I thought I couldn't love anyone but him. But then I had you, and I realized that I could love you too. And now we have Joy, and I love her too. "

Christine frowned. "Does that mean you love me less?"

"Of course not! My love isn't divided. My heart simply grew to accommodate more love, the same amount for all three of you."

Christine looked up at her, the expression on her face so shockingly similar to the one Booth saw on Brennan's so regularly that he wanted to take a picture. "Mommy," she said simply, "your heart can't grow."

"You know what else your daddy taught me?" she chuckled, stroking Christine's hair. "Miracles happen."


	4. Early Bird Gets The Worm

**A/N:**** Everytime FF changes I get really confused.**

**DISCLAIMER: Joy and Zach are my own creations but the rest of the characters aren't mine.**

* * *

The cry crackled through the baby monitor and into their sleep, soft at first before growing in insistence. Booth groaned, rolling over in bed and knocking into Brennan, who'd woken from the first cry and was already pulling herself up after a quick glance to the clock – 5:32 a.m.

Thinking her parents hadn't heard, little Christine Booth squirmed out from underneath her covers, threw a quick glance at the sister sleeping in the bed beside hers, and hollered as loud as her lungs could. "MOMMY! ZACH'S CRYING!"

Inside his downstairs room, Parker groaned. He rolled to cover his head with his pillow, wondering how he'd ended up here. At seventeen, he'd found himself with two sisters and a brother: seven-year-old Christine, four-year-old Joy, and six-month-old Zach. Over the years he'd been happy to find himself a part of his father's new family, and managed to enjoy the good parts of Christine's and Joy's childhoods without the tough parts, like the early mornings. But since the six months Zach had been born, he'd found that Zach was constantly moody, crying at regular intervals and spitting up on Parker every chance he could. He loved Zach – finally, he had a brother in the midst of so many sisters – but he could live without the lack of sleep.

Booth dragged his feet as he walked out of his room, half-following the quick steps of Brennan in front of him. Yawning, he turned into the room belonging to both his daughters, flicking the lights on as he went. Christine was already wide awake, sitting up in bed, eyes bright as she watched her father walked in. Joy was still half-asleep, lying on her side and rubbing her eyes.

"Morning, girls," he yawned, jokingly crawling into bed with Joy. She shrieked, giggling as she pushed him away.

Over time, it had become clear that Christine was pure Brennan. Although she had her father's eyes and jawline, her personality was entirely her mother's. At seven years old, the age most kids entered the second grade, she was already in the fourth, reading at a fifth grade level. Her mother had lavished her with science-y toys: chemistry sets and physics experiments and books that looked like things college students would read, not kids. Her curiosity and knowledge made her get along better with her mother, although it also gave her a connection to her father: two years ago, on a Sunday he'd taken her to church, she'd tugged on his sleeve, tilted her head up to look at him, and announced proudly: "I don't want to go to Sunday School. I want to stay and learn with the big kids." He treasured these last years he knew she would obediently believe in the things the preacher told her, with her legs dangling off the bench and her mouth open in a little 'o'.

But if Christine was all Brennan, then Joy was all Booth. While Christine and her mother could spend hours creating science theories, Joy had nearly immediately dismissed their activities and turned to more mundane activities. Booth had been thrilled, lavishing her with all the toys Christine had turned her nose up at: dolls, tea sets, jump ropes. He never protested when Christine asked him to join her tea parties, and he'd cram himself into the tiny chair, wearing feather boas and elaborate hats and speaking in his best English accent.

And now they had Zach, Booth mused as he picked up Joy in his arms and led his daughters down to the kitchen. He loved his girls with all his heart, but now that Parker was seventeen and on the verge of moving out, he longed for a son whom he could teach football and soccer, who would play fight with him and who would look up to him in the way only a son can look up to his father.

Placing his daughters in their chairs, he turned to the stove to start breakfast as Parker loped in, already looking much more awake than Booth. Parker downplayed everything, of course: he claimed that, although he loved his family, he hated having to sleep over because Zach kept waking him up, and he complained about all the femininity in the house. But the truth was, Parker loved these weekends. His mother had remarried, but she and her new husband had agreed not to have more kids. Their house was a grown-up place, one of responsibility and work. But his father's house was the complete opposite: it was a place that woke up early, spent its day running around and (due to Christine's science stuff) blowing things up. Even after eight, when all the kids had gone to bed, there were still movies to be watched and more 'mature' fun to be had with his father and Bones.

Brennan stepped into the kitchen, holding Zach protectively in her arms. She placed him in his high chair, heading straight towards the pantry for baby food.

Christine and Joy, who were now both completely awake, were already making plans for their Sunday. Cries of "The park!" and "The toy store!" and "The science center!" jumped out of their chattering, their plans moving from one destination to another in the space of a second. All of the plans featured energy and it made Booth tired just to listen to them. The moment each plan was drawn up, they'd turn towards Booth and say, "Daddy! Can we go?"

"Of course," he'd say.

"Promise?"

"I promise!"

Brennan exchanged a look with Booth. Her eyes were still red from sleep and her hair disheveled; he hadn't shaved since yesterday morning and his shirt was already stained with food. But it was the look in their eyes that told anyone who looked at them exactly how they felt about this, and every, morning: they'd give up every second of sleep they had if it meant days full of promises kept.


	5. Who We Are

**A/N:**** This chapter comes to you courtesy of a non-prompt. In answer to jsboneslover: No, B&B won't have a new child for every new chapter :) In my mind, they have three kids: Christine, who is a miniature Brennan; Joy, who is a miniature (and feminine) Booth, and Zach, who is...well, who is Zach? This chapter aims to answer that question :)**

**Be warned: fluff ensues. Also, even before I started writing, I knew this chapter was going to get out of hand length-wise. So prepare!**

**DISCLAIMER: Joy and Zach are my own creations but everything else is Hart-Hanson-owned**

* * *

Zach Booth stared at the assignment on his desk, frowning. It was a fairly simple question: "What is one word that describes your family?" It wasn't even supposed to be homework. But at the end of the class, when he'd hung his head and mumbled that he wasn't able to pick one word from the long list he'd compiled, his teacher had allowed him to take the assignment home and work on it, extending its due date to the next morning.

He'd been thinking about the question even before he'd pulled out the paper and looked over his long list, trying to narrow it down. His family was like no other; that he knew. It was unique, but he'd heard half his class use that word to describe _their _families, and he wanted his word to be special.

The first word on his list was 'large', which was definitely true. Even if he counted only his biological family, he still came up with a long list of people. There were his two sisters, Christine and Joy. His half brother, Parker; his mom and dad. There was Grandpa Max, who'd taught him to pick locks and invent secret languages. There was Uncle Jared and Aunt Padme, who'd sent him souvenirs from India; there was Uncle Russ and Aunt Amy, with their daughters Emma and Hayley. And that was before he started counting his extended family! Aunt Angela and Uncle Hodgins, who had the _biggest house _and a _pool_, as well as their kids Michael and Katie. Uncle Sweets, whom his father always treated a little weirdly. Aunt Cam, who was strict but told amazing stories about New York. Uncle Wendell and Uncle Clarke and Aunt Daisy...

Zach shook his head, clearing it. Yes, 'large' was an appropriate adjective. But it didn't capture anything but the size of his family. It hardly described anything.

He moved on to the next word, which was 'scientific'. That was certainly appropriate. His extended family was almost completely made up of scientists. His mother could solve murders by looking at bones. His oldest sister, Christine, was only fourteen but was going to graduate next year. He himself felt an inexplicable draw towards science, especially towards physics. He loved playing football and soccer and a million other sports with his dad, but he also loved to hear his mom explain how, through physics, he could be an even better football player/soccer player/Frisbee thrower.

But he shook his head, crossing out the word. It sure captured a lot about his family, but it didn't explain a lot, either. It didn't explain how his sister Joy wrote the most incredible stories and poems, reading them aloud proudly during dinner. It didn't explain the fun he'd had at the park last week, with the toy plane he and his dad had put together. It didn't explain Parker, his oldest brother, who taught him how to play chords on the guitar.

The next word was 'traditional', which again explained a lot. He thought over all his Sundays at church. His father took them biweekly, and although he enjoyed the fun and learning at Sunday School, his favorite part was sitting in the pew between his father and Joy (Christine had stopped going to church four years ago and his mother only went on very special occasions), holding their hands, and listening to prayers that seemed almost substantial, as if he could pull them from the air. He thought about Christmas, where his father would read stories from his children's Bible after opening presents. He thought about Easter, which most kids associated with chocolate but which he associated with the feel of his father's hand in his as they listened to the preacher tell the glorious story of Christ.

Yet again, he shook his head. Traditional described only half of his family. It didn't describe the way his mother would press her lips together, frowning ever so slightly, whenever God came up in the conversation. It didn't describe the way Christine tried to teach him that God didn't exist, or the way he'd cover his ears and yell 'LA LA LA' really loudly while running away every time she tried. It didn't explain why his parents each had different explanations as to why they were married: his dad claimed it was purely love, and his mom explained other benefits of marriage (tax benefits, medical benefits, etc...although at the end she also gave a brilliant smile and said 'love' as well). It didn't explain their other biweekly Sundays: Science Sundays, when his mom would take them out to the park and they'd create experiments with grass and leaves and bark.

Slowly he worked his way down his list, crossing off words, until his mother called him down for dinner.

He sat in his usual spot, observing the family around him. Christine and Joy sat on one side of the table, his parents sat on opposite ends, and he sat across from Christine, beside Parker. Joy stood and read aloud her 'Daily Poem', as his dad called them (his mom called it her 'Daily Literature' because she didn't technically always read aloud a poem. There were also stories and essays and such), and after a round of applause, they began to eat. Parker talked about his new job in the city. Christine talked about her biology class and the dissection they were planning for next week. Their dad told her to stick to appropriate dinner talk, claiming that dissection was not part of it. She retaliated that they were currently eating meat, and how was dissection any grosser than eating a steak? Bickering ensued.

Dinner came and went, and as his mother handed out bowls of peaches and cream for dessert, she stopped and gave him a little smile. "What about you, Zach? How was your day?"

He detailed his assignment, watching as each person in the family immediately came up with their own words. Parker called his family 'entertaining', chuckling that he'd heard dinner conversation quite as riveting as theirs. Christine called them 'rational', which made her father choke on his peaches as he denied that he was rational. That cracked every one up for a good five minutes before they continued. His mom thought for a long time, eventually coming up with 'an anthropological example of wonderful breeding', which Zach pointed out was not one word but six, and which made his dad roll his eyes. His dad came up with 'perfect', which Christine immediately said was corny. Joy beat them all, of course: she described their family as 'dazzling', which made their dad push back his chair and give her a standing ovation.

At the end, though, he was no further along in the assignment than he had originally been. On the verge of tears, he followed Joy to the dishwasher with his things. She took his plate and utensils from him, then reached for his shoulder.

"Before you try to find a word to describe your family," she suggested, "find a word for yourself. You were raised with us, by us, right? So your family is reflected in you."

Zach mused over that, gently closing his door behind him and sitting back down at his desk. Who was _he?_

He was smart and a quick thinker. That came from his mother – her intelligence and knowledge, her grammatically-correct way of speaking. He loved spending time with her as she explained sports with a physics twist: where to kick the ball to make it go higher, how to hold the Frisbee to throw it further. He loved Science Sundays, and the time they'd found a frog in Aunt Angela's pool. His mom had placed it in his hands, cradling her own hands around his, and she'd told him about why the frog's skin was so clammy and cold. On his sixth birthday, she'd bought him a toy chemistry set and helped him set it up. Although the 'chemicals' weren't really chemicals, she'd helped him correctly name each one and told him what would happen if the chemicals were real and not just dyed water.

He was energetic. That came entirely from his father. From the moment he could walk, his father had taken him out to parks and played with him to the point where he wouldn't even complain when bedtime rolled around. His favorite activity was trying to tackle his father. He knew that it was nearly physically impossible for him to actually beat his father when they wrestled, but his dad was a good sport. After making it look believable, he'd allow Zach to roll him onto his back and stand on his chest, hands held up to the sky as he declared that he'd officially beaten his dad. Even knowing that he hadn't won fairly, it still gave him a sense of pride: his dad was an FBI agent (and all his classmates knew it, as he loved to brag about it) and beating him was like beating the Best Wrestler In The World.

He was thoughtful. That came from his dad, but also a lot from Joy. With her quick tongue and easy affluence with the English language, she'd taught him how to look at the world from a different perspective: not from the rational one he'd inherited from their mother, or the 'rose-tinted' one (as Joy put it) that came from their father (who romanticized everything). She'd taught him to look through another layer, to see the world as not just how it is, but as everything between the lines. She'd done her best to teach him how to spin together his words into stories and poems, and although he wasn't half as good as she was, he was proud whenever that whenever he read one of his creations aloud to her, he could make her smile.

He was curious. Although it was a natural trait, passed on to him by his mom, it was also one that had been nurtured by Christine. Ever since he was little, she'd loved to answer his questions, sometimes bordering on telling him too much. She'd explained to him how the TV worked, why the sky was blue, why the trees lost their leaves. She'd stopped him from pulling out every blade of grass from their backyard by explaining not only that he was killing the grass, but also how grass was important to their ecosystem. She hadn't only answered questions, she'd also created some, then watched as he struggled to answer them by collecting as much evidence as he could. Some of his best moments with Christine had been when he'd read aloud his findings and she'd tell him he was right.

He was musical. It was a well-known fact in their family that their parents' song was "Hot Blooded", and he was probably the only kid in his entire school that knew not only every word to the song, but also how to (sort of) play it on guitar. Although Parker was actually going to be a doctor, he'd taught himself how to play guitar and Zach had become riveted to it. He loved the feel of the strings digging into his fingertips, and the way Parker would sit across from him, telling him where to place each finger and what chord he was playing. Once they'd both learned Hot Blooded, they'd performed it to their parents and earned a standing ovation.

Leaning over his list, he thought once again over his family, but this time there was no hesitation as he picked up his pen and carefully wrote down the perfect word to describe them: "Love".

* * *

**I'm open to suggestions for that word. I still don't think it's perfect. I had just as much trouble as Zach figuring this out.**


	6. The Distance In Between

**A/N:**** The closer season 8 gets, the more scared I get! I'm sort of saving my tearful-reunion scene for "All of the Courage", but I figured I'd go past that.**

**This takes place after B&B and Christine are reunited. No real spoilers, just pure speculation. Warning: angst ahead!**

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine.**

She watches him sleep.

The past week has been rocky at best. She is finally back home, her daughter tucked safely in her nursery. Booth was ecstatic, absolutely over-the-moon, and she was right there with him. Every touch, every look was electrifying, and letting each other go was nearly impossible.

And then the sun came up, and reality set in.

She shifts. Certain parts of their routine have been easy to settle in to: she has spent the past months sleeping in crappy hotels and hidden rooms; he has made beds on the couch and at Angela's. Their room has been nearly untouched, so this part is easy. Going to bed with him, feeling him pull her close, it is as natural as breathing. They have both become light sleepers, so the rare moments when she is awake and he is not are treasured.

Life with him has always been like navigating a minefield. She is terrified of stepping on the wrong spot, with the wrong foot. But he was always there to guide her through it, nearly carrying her. These days, though, it's like they're both navigating their own minefields. She can lead him through his and he can lead her through hers, but it's not that simple. They can't reach out for each other, or their worlds will both explode. They much each navigate their minefields separately.

They are finally together, but she has never felt so alone.

* * *

He knows the distance between them.

It's killing him inside, not reaching out for her. He knows she is just on the other side, and it would be so easy to draw her close.

But the months alone have taken a toll on both of them, and he knows better.

She has always been a maze with fake walls, one that he willingly dedicates his life to navigating. Some walls are meant to be broken, and they are both better for it. But some walls are glass, and when he kicks them down they shatter, leaving slivers in his feet. He can't afford breaking the wrong walls anymore, so he doesn't break any of them. He keeps his distance, curling his fingers into his fists to avoid reaching for her.

He knows she's awake, and he wonders if she knows that he is, too. He fakes sleep, though, keeping his breathing regular and torturing himself by shifting closer. Heat rolls off of her in waves, and it takes every ounce of strength in his body to keep from reaching out for her.

The past week has been like walking blind through a warzone. He doesn't know what to say or what to do, but certain habits do kick in. She keeps a steady routine from the first day: she wakes and feeds their daughter, she goes to work, and she comes home and makes dinner. She calls him at regular intervals: in the mornings, at lunch, in the middle of the afternoon. Those calls have become his lifeline, her voice a balm to the fear that he feels whenever she is gone.

The fear has always been there, from the moment he fell in love with her, from the moment he decided to spend his life protecting her. When she is gone, he can't possibly know what she is doing, who is around her, who is a potential threat. But now the fear has morphed, changed into something else. He still fears for her life, especially with Pelant still not completely pacified. But now, more than ever, he fears that she will leave again. It's pointless, stupid, irrational. But he still fears that she will walk away.

Their daughter is another problem to navigate. Christine has grown accustomed to her mother, and although Brennan did everything she could to remind Christine of Booth, Christine still feels uncomfortable around him. She squirms and wiggles much more in his arms, and if her mother isn't around she cries. It's a knife in his heart, the fact that his own daughter doesn't remember him. He aches for her, but he can't stand the way she sobs in his arms so he pulls away.

He has spent the last months praying for them, dreaming of them, crying for them. But now that they are back, he no longer knows where he stands.

* * *

In the next room, their daughter cries, and they both shift.

They both know that Christine doesn't remember Booth the way she once did. It breaks her heart, the fact that the man she loves isn't a part of their life the way he once was. Before those months, he was a constant, but now there's an invisible barrier between them. She claws at it, kicks and screams and punches and cries. But she can't break through it.

She pads out of their room towards the nursery, biting back a whimper when he doesn't follow. He misses the days they would awaken together, both nearly running towards their daughter. But those days are gone for now, and she resigns herself to this loneliness in the hopes that it will one day disappear.

* * *

He feels her presence shifting, walking away from him, and he opens his eyes.

The room is dark, the imprint of her still beside him, still nearly solid. He rolls to where she was sitting, the leftover heat a small comfort to the unfathomable ache in his chest.

He hears his daughter's cries and the soft padding of Bones' feet across the floor, her murmurs as she tries to quiet her daughter down. He misses being able to help her with their daughter. His muscles contract, as if he's nearly prepared to walk out after her, but he doesn't. He's scared that if he walks in there, he'll only make it worse.

He remembers the first time he held her after they returned, the weight of her in his arms. She has grown more than he could have possibly imagined, and although she was still light and tiny, his knees buckled. His fingers itch for her now, the soft skin and surprisingly strong fingers.

In the nursery, her cries continue, and the soft murmurs from his partner become imperceptibly more desperate. He knows that she feels the lack of sleep, because he feels it too. Again he aches to hold them, but he is terrified of what could happen, of all the possibilities.

The crying continues, again and again and again. The murmurs rise, little by little, desperation sinking in. He knows that she knows Christine can feel her mother's emotions, but he knows she is too tired to consider that.

He is moving before he realizes it. His feet are nearly silent on the wood floor, loud enough only to alert her to his presence. He turns the corner into Christine's nursery and his heart nearly breaks: Bones is curled up in the rocking chair with their daughter in her arms, rocking slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. Her words are quiet, hushed, and strung together in rational sentences. The closer he gets, the more he hears: she is trying to calm their daughter by telling her the benefits of sleep.

She looks up as he gets closer, her eyes red and brimming with tears. She is too tired to even be surprised by his presence, simply watching him draw nearer.

His arms reach out without his permission and the words slip from his lips. "Give her to me."

Every muscle in her body nearly collapses with exhaustion, and her arms stretch out to deposit their daughter in his arms. She stands from the chair, and he takes her place, trying not to make her feel uncomfortable where she stands beside him.

His daughter wiggles and squirms in his arms, sobbing loudly. Her face is red, her eyes squeezed together and her mouth wide open as she screams louder than her lungs can possibly handle.

"Hello," he murmurs, and her fists clench. The world falls away, and he all but forgets about his partner standing beside him.

"Hello," he murmurs again, and the words spill like waterfall from him. "I missed you. Daddy missed you. So much. Do you know how much I love you?"

Her cries diminish by tiny degrees.

"I love you so, so much. I cried too. Just like you are right now. I cried so much when you were gone." His eyes fill with tears and his lips quiver. "I wanted to hold you. I didn't want to ever let you go."

Her eyes open to half-mast.

"It made me so, so sad that you and your mommy were gone. So sad. I think you and your mommy were sad too, right? Do you know how much I missed you guys?"

Beside him, Brennan's eyes overflow with tears again, and her breathing become shaky.

"So, so much."

Her cries slow and her breaths come in quicker, like tiny hiccups.

"You and your mommy are so special to me. You two are the light of my life. I love you girls so, so much. Do you know that?"

Her eyes open and her cries hitch to a stop. Two bright marbles of brown light blink up at him, so similar to his own eyes. Her fingers reach up at him and clench, reaching for him.

He lets his hand rest over her chest, watching with delight as her fingers wrap around his.

His partner's sniffs are suddenly that much louder, and without even looking up, he shifts. He moves his daughter to only one arm, so that his other arm is free. He leans back in the chair and opens up his free arm, reaching for her.

She moves into his embrace seamlessly, wrapping herself around him. Her legs pull up into his lap and her arms wrap around him as she presses her face into his neck. His left arm supports their daughter, now asleep, and his right arm wraps around the love of his life protectively.

Slowly her breaths even out as she allows the exhaustion to pull her into its possession, and his eyelids droop down against his will. In the morning they will awake and stretch out their muscles. He will regret sleeping on the chair when his back acts up, and she will spend the day rolling out her shoulders to loosen the tense muscles. But the distance between them will be once step smaller. And frankly, that's all that matters.


	7. Chocolate and Candy

**A/N: I like to think Christine, Joy, and Michael would be experts at getting into trouble and getting away with it because they're so precious to their parents.**

**Also, for those of you waiting for the next chapter of All of the Courage, it should be up...eventually. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, no.**

They have always been opposites, even as sisters. Christine is smart and rational, Joy is intuitive and follows her heart. But they are sisters, and bound by blood, and though it is a bond many siblings choose to ignore, it is one they cherish.

Christine is older, and she has always thought of herself as the teacher. She is the one who tried to explain science and math for Joy, even after Joy wrinkled her nose at it and told her she didn't like science. She is the one who, once upon a time, was too rooted into her own happiness in rationality that she couldn't understand why her sister didn't feel the same way. She is the one who learned to think of others through her sister, and then began teaching Joy different things: what to say to their mother to convince her to take them to the lab. How to act around their dad to get him to let them have junk food for dinner. How to plead with Aunt Angela to let them play with her paints, what words to say to get Uncle Jack to show them his bugs. Michael had always been there with them, learning and growing with them. He was older than both of them, and he loved to brag about it. The three of them were experts at manipulating the adults, each for their own reasons. Michael was best at manipulating his parents: his mother because she was a sucker for his smile, and his father because any interest he showed in bugs was like giving his dad a million dollars.

Christine was best at manipulating her mother and Cam. Cam was easy because when she was younger, Cam had babysat for her often, at least once a week, and had taught her a lot about her parents' job. Her mother was obvious: Brennan was absolutely thrilled that her daughter was pretty much a miniature version of her.

Christine was good at manipulating her father as well, but no one was better than Joy. Christine, as great an actor as she may be, was only an actor. She had trouble with physical contact, and had a huge personal bubble around her. Anything past the occasional hug, even from her parents, was uncomfortable to her.

But Joy. Joy wasn't acting when she pranced up to her father, wrapping her arms around his leg and begging him for what the three of them wanted that day: ice cream for dinner/a trip to the park/convincing their mother to buy them a play set. In no way was Booth disappointed in Christine – he absolutely loved having a miniature version of the woman he loved – but Joy was definitely the daughter he'd always imagined having. She was bubbly and energetic and at the end of the day she adored curling up in his lap as she fell asleep. Denying her was even harder than denying his partner or his other daughter.

Although they were all close friends, Joy had always been more of an accessory to the older Christine and Michael than an equal part of their 'team'. She was the one who had the highest success rate at manipulating Booth and, honestly, all of the squint squad. She tagged along and had fun with them, but she never came up with plans, and when she did Christine and Michael would either a)laugh at them or b)steal them for themselves.

But not today, Joy thought smugly to herself. Today she was the leader, and she felt a strong sense of accomplishment at finally getting to be better than her sister and her cousin. A strong mix of her mother's rationality and her father's psychology had taught her what she needed to do: instead of telling them her plan, she'd picked out tiny details from her plan, only enough to entice them, then roped them in.

She led Christine and Michael to the corner of the bullpen, then waved at them as they joined arms and walked into Hacker's office. They'd tried to convince her to let them come with her, but she'd turned them down, her plan already devised perfectly. Once she'd made sure that they'd convinced Hacker to let them stick around – Hacker wasn't exactly a part of their parents' 'group', but he was a valuable friend to them whenever they visited their father – she pranced towards her father's office. Agents rushed around, but she walked through them easily. All of the agents near her father's office knew her, as she was around at least once a week.

She rapped smartly on her father's door, then took a step back and reached into her back pocket for the piece of paper she'd brought with her. Her father's voice rumbled from inside – "Come in!" – but when she didn't make a move to open the door, she heard his heavy footsteps before the door swung open.

"Joy!" The shock on his face was clear, but his happiness was too. He crouched, wrapping his arms around his daughter and swinging her up into his arms. "Hey there! What are you doing here?!"

Joy wrapped her legs around her father, tightening her grip and giggling. "Hi daddy! Auntie Cam needed to talk to someone here so she brought us along." Her father's arms tightened, boosting her further up into his embrace before he closed the door and deposited her on the couch.

"Where's your mommy?" he asked, kneeling in front of her. She was excellent at picking up on people's emotions, so over the years she'd collected much more data than Christine and Michael. She knew, for example, that her father both hated and loved seeing her grow up, and he always thought she looked adorable wearing summer dresses and flowers in her hair. She'd gone even above and beyond: not only had she worn the red dress his father had brought home for her, but she'd chosen daffodils to wear in her hair...her mother's favorite flower.

"She had to teach Auntie Daisy to do something," Joy said vaguely. She wasn't even lying. Her mother was going to babysit the three of them that day, but she'd gotten a call from the lab and had dropped the three of them in Aunt Cam's office. It was pure luck that Cam had gotten a call from the FBI, asking her for her expertise, and they'd been able to put their plan into action.

"Well," her daddy said, straightening his back and sitting down beside her. "Is there anything you're here for?"

"No!" she said vehemently, wrapping her arms around her dad. "I just wanted to visit you."

Her dad chuckles, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. "I'm so sorry, baby, but I'm really busy right now. Look, how about I call Auntie Cam up here so that she can take you back to the lab?"

Joy jumped up, holding her hands behind her back. "It's okay, daddy," she says smartly. "I'm a big girl. I know where she'll be."

Her dad's smile wavers, and she picks up on that love/hate feeling towards her growing up. She immediately runs toward him, wrapping her arms around his leg. "Love you daddy."

His hand immediately drops to her head, smoothing back her hair. "Love you too, baby."

She smiles, stepping back and skipping out of the room. She doesn't have to look back to know what'll happen: he'll wait until she's gone from sight. Then he'll pick up the phone and dial Cam's number, tell her to make sure Joy gets to the lab safe, and maybe threaten her even though all it will do is make Cam laugh.

It'll be hours, she smirks to herself, before he realizes the key in his pocket – the key to the cupboard above the fridge, where he keeps all the chocolate and other junk food he doesn't know his girls know exists – is missing.

* * *

Brennan twists the front knob, humming to herself. The tune is mindlessly familiar to her, just like the voices of both her daughter's and the sound of her nickname on her partner's tongue. It is late, she is tired, and the humming is keeping her awake.

She ambles through her house, dropping her key into the bowl on the cupboard right beside the door. The house is dark and quiet, remnants of the day still littered around it. Summer break has always been difficult to balance, what with their work and their kids. These days they take turns: during the first part of a case, where she is constantly needed at the lab, he stays home with them. When they get to the more personable part of the case, she stays home. And whenever they are both needed, Angela or Cam stays with the kids.

She yawns, blinking her eyes and trying not to fall asleep on her feet. The darkness isn't making it much easier for her, but she manages to drag herself into the kitchen for a quick late night snack. She drops her purse on the counter and opens the fridge door, allowing the cold air to drift around her and raise goosebumps on her skin. The light washes over her, but it doesn't illuminate anything good to eat. Over the years, she's developed a sweet tooth just like Booth, and her almond milk and fruits won't satisfy the aching on her tongue.

The pantry doesn't reveal any wonders, either. There are granola bars and yogurt chips but nothing really good. She runs the tip of her tongue over her front teeth and thinks about her craving. Chocolate, she thinks. She's craving chocolate. And a pop.

Time to break into The Cupboard.

The Cupboard had been Booth's idea. He'd created it when Christine had stopped asking for food and had started searching for it. She'd been very angry at him when she'd come home to find Christine trying to figure out how to open a beer can (she'd picked it out while Booth was in the bathroom and was rolling it on the ground, holding the cold metal to her cheeks). In the end, when she'd threatened to throw out all the unhealthy stuff he kept in the fridge, he'd put all his things in the cupboard and locked it. Inside were cans of pop and beer (he'd put them in the freezer for a couple of hours whenever he wanted one), bars of chocolate, bags of gummy worms and licorice.

She pulls the key he doesn't know she has from her pocket, dragging over a chair to stand on. She slides the key in and turns it, opens the door, already tasting the sweetness of the chocolate on her tongue, the bubbling of the pop on her lips...

...but the Cupboard is empty.

She leans back slightly, puzzled. It's been a while since she opened the Cupboard, and Booth is the only one who stocks it, so it's completely possible that he simply forgot to buy more food. But it doesn't seem possible – she's absolutely sure he chugged down a beer after the girls had gone to bed last night, and she's almost certain he had snuck a donut from it this morning.

She doesn't bother to lock the Cupboard as she walks towards their bedroom, still puzzling over the riddle. Booth is asleep, lying on his stomach and snoring contentedly, but that doesn't stop her. She pokes him in the middle of his back. "Booth."

"Mghphm."

"Booth," she repeats, and he rolls over, stretching.

"What is it?" he murmurs, peering at her. His arm wraps around her waist and he pulls them together.

"There's nothing in the Cupboard."

_That _wakes him up. "What do you mean, there's nothing in the Cupboard?"

"It's empty. I thought maybe you forgot to restock it."

"Ya think? It's my only responsibility here when it comes to the kitchen. I never forget."

"Well then where did all the food go?"

He narrows his eyes, thinking, then moves slowly. He walks out of the room, ambling, looking almost like he's preparing to pounce. She follows him curiously, her curiosity spiking when he walks past the stairs and towards Christine's room.

"Booth," she hisses, "You're going to wake them up!"

"It's okay," he huffs. He rests his hand on the doorknob, counts to three, and swings the door open.

The door catches on the rolled-up towels covering the bottom edge of the door. The light flicks on only seconds later, and Brennan peers over Booth's shoulder in shock.

Christine and Joy are sitting on a comforter on the floor, their eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. Wrappers are scattered around them, and unopened cans are stacked by the wall.

"Christine!" Brennan says, her voice indignant. "Joy! What did you guys do?"

Chrissy looks down, embarrassed, and Joy immediately bursts into tears.

Booth crosses the room in three quick strides, pulling his daughter into his embrace. "I'm sorry," she sobs, shaking in his arms.

"Shhh," he whispers, rocking her as he leaves the room, his gentle murmurs floating back into the room, where Christine and Brennan are left staring at each other.

Christine drops her head, lips quivering. "I'm sorry, mom."

Brennan crosses her arms, trying not to let her lips curve into a smile. "Are you really?"

Her words bump and curve over each other as they spill out of her mouth. "I'll put back all the stuff we haven't eaten. I'll work with Cam and Angela until I've gotten enough money to buy back all the things we ate. Even enough to change the lock on the cupboard!"

Brennan's heart melts at her daughter's words. The fact that Christine didn't try to wiggle her way out and offered to do more than Brennan would've asked is more than enough for her, and she walks over and gently takes her hand.

"As long as you do that," she says, "we have a deal."

In a rare moment of comfort, Christine crawls into her laps and bumps the top of her head against her mother's chin.

Within half an hour, everything is smoothed out. Joy has fallen asleep in her father's arms, after promising to work with Christine. Christine is curled up in her own bed, wavering on the edge of sleep. All the remaining food has been stored and two happy parents watching their children lovingly.

The lights flick off, and both girls turn instinctively towards each other, eyes twinkling. Over the course of the past thirty minutes, neither has mentioned the treats in Michael's backpack. They haven't even mentioned Michael's involvement: the chair he dragged to the fridge, the way he boosted Christine up to the top of the fridge, the treats he passed down, the sticks of licorice and bars of chocolate they hid in his backpack to eat tomorrow.

All three fall asleep with the promise of tomorrow's sweetness on their tongues.


	8. Unison

**A/N****:**** In honor of finally having a Bones promo, a new opening sequence, and less than three weeks to season 8, I've written fluff. **

**DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, not mine.**

* * *

He honestly hadn't meant to buy the present in the little green box. Going to the mall had become a common activity for him, with or without her or their kids. He'd recently found a mall en route home, where he'd found all the stores he needed: a clothing store for his daughters, a clothing store for him and his partner, an organic supermarket. He went there nearly daily. He didn't always buy something, but he window-shopped nearly constantly.

The store he had stepped into that day was one he had passed again and again and again, sometimes admiring the things in the window but never really going in. It was mere coincidence that their latest victim had worked there, and even more coincidence that Chrissy had been sick that day, prompting Brennan to stay home with her and work from her computer while Booth went out on field work. It hadn't taken him long to discover that this was more of an undercover kind of job, so he'd come in and pretended to be a customer. Only when he'd arrived had he found out that the store wasn't just an ordinary store: it was a diamond store, which specialized in engagement rings.

Honestly, being undercover had never been so easy. He'd gotten lost in the jewellery, the beautiful rings and the sparkling pendants, nearly forgetting that he was supposed to be learning more about the victim. Eventually he'd remembered, and had asked all the questions needed, and then had turned to leave. He'd thought it would be easy, but then he'd turned, and there it had been. It was on display in the counter, near the very back, hidden by more elaborate, expensive rings.

And there he had stood, staring at the ring, with the sapphires the exact color of her eyes, the tiny diamond sparkling, so pretty and so tiny and yet so amazing. He could see it on her finger, pressed against his palm as she held his hand, maybe on the dresser where she put all her jewellery.

"Can I help you?" the man he'd been talking to had asked him, pulling out one of the more expensive rings from the front of the display and offering it to him.

"No," he'd said, voice hoarse, lifting a finger and just barely stopping it from shaking. "That one."

* * *

She had admired the ring for many reasons. It was a beautiful ring. It was a timeless ring. It was the only ring that had stayed in the display for year after year. She'd admire it whenever she walked past, dragging her finger along the glass of the window as she considered it.

She hadn't ever considered _why_ she'd want it, of course. She just admired it.

The store was far from the Mighty Hut, and so she hadn't really been there in a while, but she was being nostalgic and she had decided to pass by the store for emotional reasons. She'd stared at the ring for what seemed to be like hours, until someone had come out and asked if she liked anything.

"Yeah," she'd said, voice sticking in her throat. She'd pointed at the flat silver ring, with the twists of copper and gold, the ring she'd always imagined on _his _hand, on _his _finger. "That one, please."

* * *

Rooting through his drawers, she sighs and blows hair out of her face. She'd called him an hour ago, asking about the paperwork she'd sent him, and he'd told her it was on top of her desk. If it had been any other day, he would have gone to help her. But Joy was sick at home and he was home with her, so instead she had gone to his office alone. The paperwork hadn't been on his desk, so she had decided to look through his drawers.

What a mess, she thinks to herself. The drawers are overflowing with old papers, assorted memorabilia, and photo after photo of his family: Chrissy, Joy, Parker, and her, over and over and over again.

She sighs, leaning back onto the chair and staring at the things on his desk: the bobblehead bobby he so loved, hockey pucks, and picture frames. The largest, taking up way too much space than it should, is their most recent Christmas picture.

She reaches through the drawers again, stretching her fingers all the way back, idly thinking to herself that she should clean up the room for him, what a great surprise that would be to him. He would notice. He had to, considering how much work there was to be done.

She finishes pulling out everything from the drawer, but one of the papers at the very bottom sticks. Huffing, she pulls at it, digging her fingernails around it and trying to pull it out without ripping it.

To her surprise, the entire bottom of the drawer comes out, but there is more underneath. Shocked at the discovery of the secret compartment, she drags her fingers over the things inside. Receipts she recognizes from date nights. A tiny smurf which she'd given him as a thank-you present for the smurf he'd given her. Pictures from far before they'd begun dating, pictures of her she hadn't known he had, hadn't known existed. One, particularly, was of her in a long dress, one she vaguely remembered from one of her speeches. That wasn't what caught her attention, though: the picture was creased in the middle, as if it had been folded again and again.

In the very middle of the drawer was a tiny box, a deep green velvet that dazzles her. She pulls the box out, heart beating faster and faster as she realizes what the box must be. Her fingers rest on the crease between the box and the lid, dying to pull it open, dying to see what's inside.

Her eyes close and she swallows dryly, thinking of him. She has no doubt that what she is holding in her hand is an engagement ring, no doubt that he has bought it for her, to propose. She doesn't understand why she is so shocked, so scared. She, after all, bought him a ring to propose. The thought that scares her, though, is not that he will propose to her. The thought that scares her is that he will propose to her before she can propose to him.

Her stomach twists, and she puts the ring back in the drawer, covering it haphazardly with all the papers before standing and leaving, paperwork forgotten.

* * *

He is lying on her couch, waiting for her to return. She has been in Limbo for forever, and he refuses to leave until she eats something, and so he waits.

Sighing, he shifts on the couch, wrinkling his nose when something digs into his back. Standing up, he pulls on the pillow shifting his hands around until he found what was digging into his skin. In his hand is a small, silk black box. He shifts in his hands, his stomach twisting as he realizes what the box must be. His fingers press into the crease, one hand holding the lid so that it doesn't accidentally snap open. He knows the box, because it is an almost-replica to the one in his office, other than the color and the fabric. He is dying to open it, dying to see the ring inside. Will it be one she picked out for himself? Will it be one for him? Maybe she picked two, matching rings.

He shakes his head to clear it, and closes the box before slipping it back underneath the couch cushion. He doesn't want to spoil the surprise, but a smile creeps across his face as he decides that, no matter what, he will find a way to propose to her first.

Without either knowing, they have begun a competition.

* * *

She asks him to dinner. He replies that he is busy and cannot.

He asks her to brunch. She replies that she has a conference.

Finally, after weeks and weeks of this scheduling dance, Angela announces that on Friday night, she will be taking Christine and Joy to her house, and there they will stay for the whole weekend.

Both take this as a sort of sign, a decision: they will propose to each other, before the other, because this is the night. This is the perfect night.

She wears the black dress, the one from Vegas, knowing it will drive him crazy and hoping it will distract him. The ring is in her purse, which she keeps within arm's reach the entire night.

He wears a three-piece grey suit, his tie slightly askew, making her fingers itch to straighten it, but he constantly stays just a little bit away. The ring is in his pocket, and he carefully steers her fingers away whenever they come close.

They have dinner at an Italian restaraunt, each of them planning to end the night with a bang. The anticipation between them is thick and tense, and both of them flinch and startle whenever the other seems to be making a move.

The waitress takes away their dishes and they order dessert, both their stomachs twisting and turning in excitement as they both prepare to propose. Neither has a speech planned, neither has an idea what they're going to say, but both decide to go ahead anyways.

They both subtly reach for their boxes, curving their fingers around them.

"Bones-" he starts.

"Wait, Booth, I have to-" she tries to cut in.

And then, in perfect unison, throwing all caution to the wind, they stretch out their hands, flick open the lids of the boxes, and blurt out: "I love you. Will you marry me?"

And they laugh, slipping rings onto fingers, reaching across the table to kiss softly, lovingly, until the sound of applause from the people around them brings them out of their reverie.


	9. The Bet

**A/N: Honestly, this one ended up way different than I expected. When I originally thought of this, I was going to make it kind of humorous. Instead I ended up with a kind of angsty (although fluffy) piece. Spoilers for 6x22. Also, I've kind of disregarded some facts, so this is just a little AU.**

**This is slightly based on a chapter from casket4mytears' story "The Bites of the Partnership Pie". At least, that's where I got the idea from.**

**DISCLAIMER: Nope, they're not mine.**

* * *

The bets had started after the first case, although the people in the betting pool had been slightly different. They'd all gone to a bar in celebration, drinking more than they should and eating until they were stuffed. Brennan had been the first to leave, claiming she needed to write up a couple of reports. Booth had immediately jumped up, offering her a ride, and in the end he had escorted her outside to a taxi. He hadn't returned, choosing to go home as well.

"How long do you think it's going to take them to get together?" Angela had asked.

had rolled his eyes, clearly not interested. "I think that's my cue to leave."

Hodgins, drunk just slightly more than he should've been, had given a poke in the shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous," he'd said. "Live a little!"

"I give it two more cases," Angela had declared. "Zach?"

And so the bets began. They were always about Booth and Brennan, but otherwise they didn't follow very many patterns. Sometimes they were about how they were going to get together. Sometimes they were about when their first child would be born. Whether it would be a boy or a girl. What they would name him or her, where they would live. Most had lost track of the bets, as there were so many and so varied, and they were always at least a little tipsy.

Angela was the one who kept track of the bets, all of them written down on a piece of paper with everyone's money attached in an envelope. Every couple of months, whenever there was a development in their relationship, she'd go through the folder of bets and try to pick out the ones where someone had won.

Bets were won and bets were lost, but one bet was repeated, over and over, because no one ever won. It was the bet of 'when are Booth and Brennan going to officially get together?", and the rules were extensive. The winner of that bet stood to win more than a thousand dollars. They renewed it every six months, and a minimum of five dollars had to be added in if you wanted to continue the bet.

The rules had been debated again and again, and although they still didn't all exactly agree on them, the ones that were written were clear. The day had to be when someone who had bet found out, not the day they'd begun dating. A kiss or a 'physical encounter', as Angela wrote down for Clark's sake, did not count as getting together. Both Booth and Brennan had to admit they were dating, and this could only be confirmed either by an explicit confession from both or a witness of both telling each other "I love you". The person who won had to have the date closest to the real one, but without the date passing by. That added the possibility of them all losing, but they were all too excited about the possibilities to care. Finally, no one could force them to confess. They could poke and prod fun, but they couldn't explicitly ask about their relationship.

The other bets were usually less 'ruled'. Some were fun to win, like a particular one Hodgins had won, when Booth and Brennan had been undercover as Buck and Wanda, circus extraordinaires. The bet had been set after the Vegas case, and had no time limit. It simply stated that at some point, Booth and Brennan would be in a situation where they had to have more than hugs and touching to prove they were a couple, during an undercover situation. There weren't many rules for that one, so rocking the trailer had counted as a win.

Some, though, weren't fun to win at all. Wendell had once bet that at some point, before they got together, Brennan would confess her love to Booth. It was sheer coincidence that a couple of nights after Brennan had told Angela what she'd done – confessing her feelings to Booth, being turned down in favor of Hannah – Angela had flipped through the folder to Wendell's bet. He'd won fifty dollars, fifty dollars he probably needed, but he'd given back everyone's money, claiming that it made him sick to accept it.

And so the bets continued, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how strange, and Booth and Brennan lived on, oblivious. Everyone at the lab had lost count of just how much money they'd lost, just how much of it was saved with Angela.

The last time they'd placed a bet, on Booth and Brennan getting together, had been a month before Vincent's death. Once again, none of them had absolutely, truly believed that they would get together, not within those six months, not after six years of betting.

And then Vincent had died, and Brennan had told Angela about that night, but it hadn't counted as a confession. Still, it got everyone keyed up. They all knew, but there was no certainty, the rules had not been met. Everyone in the lab held on to their dates, growing more and more excited and worried as they got closer and mourning their loss as they passed.

Then the day came when Brennan invited everyone to her house for dinner. Every little thing the couple said was considered to be a sign, so when the dinner came around, Daisy was convinced she was going to win. Her date, after all, was the day after the dinner. No way would someone beat her.

Booth and Brennan, oblivious to the bet, had spent weeks sitting on their secret and deciding when they would reveal it. Their argument had officially become invalid when, a week ago, Fisher had commented that Brennan seemed to be gaining a little weight. He had said it in the nicest way possible, and he certainly hadn't been trying to insult Brennan. He hadn't connected the dots, a firm believer that when Booth and Brennan did get together, they would take it slow in order to make sure they wouldn't ruin their relationship. He had no idea that he was commenting on more than a slight pudge in Brennan's belly.

"I shouldn't have worn that damned shirt," Brennan had complained that night, as she and Booth made dinner. "It was too tight. I should've realized that my belly would've been more obvious."

Booth had reached for her, pressing his hand against her belly, musing to himself that it was true. She was nearly five months pregnant now, and every night they wrapped a measuring tape around her, watching the evidence that she was growing, slowly, bit by bit, but growing. She chose to wear loose clothes, hoping that no one would notice, but she'd seen the shirt and splurged on it, and she hadn't really been worried when the shirt had been just a little too tight for her.

"So we'll tell them," he'd murmured into her ear, trying to stop her from getting too nervous. "It's not like it'll be that bad. We've been planning to tell them anyways."

They'd both worked hard to make the night perfect: they'd cleaned her living room to near perfection. They'd cooked the best things they knew how to make. They'd done absolutely everything they could, and as their guests appeared, they couldn't help but notice a strange sense of anticipation in the air. Some were kind of glum; some were a little keyed up. Daisy, in particular, had shown up nearly ecstatic, giving them both tight hugs and clapping her hands.

Angela had already lost, to her dismay. Her date had been closer to when Brennan had confessed to crawling into bed with Booth. She had brought the folder, though, hiding it in her purse. They had all agreed the night before that if they really did confess; they would gather at the diner afterwards and find out who won.

They ate dinner, chatting amongst themselves and just barely reining in their happiness and excitement for the couple. At the very end, they'd gathered in the living room. Brennan had sat on the sofa, Booth stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. "I think you'll all be very happy to know," he'd announced, barely reigning in a smile, "that Bones and I...well, we're together. We're dating."

Daisy had nearly exploded, jumping up and down, and there had been a round of extreme congratulations before Max had cleared his throat and looked pointedly down at his daughter's belly. "Booth, are you sure there isn't something else you and Tempe would like to announce?"

"Oh yes!" Brennan had said smartly, nodding amongst her friends. "I am carrying Booth's progeny." She'd turned to look at her friends, wondering if they'd understood. "I'm pregnant."

This time, unlike the explosion of happiness and excitement amongst their friends, there was a ripple of shock. Fisher had stared, mouth open, at Brennan's belly, suddenly understanding her weight gain. Angela had walked backwards until she found the sofa, collapsing down onto it as she realized the meaning behind her friend's mood swings and odd cravings. Only Max had been unaffected, staring smugly at the man he'd always known would be perfect for his daughter.

An hour later, after all of them had made up excuses to leave after an appropriate amount of time, they'd gathered at the diner. Angela had pulled out the folder, glancing in amusement at Daisy, who was nearly falling off her seat in excitement. "I won, I won, I won!" she'd said, excitedly. No one at the table disagreed with her: all of them knew she was the closest, as everyone else's dates had either gone by or were too far away.

No one, until Angela pulled out the folder and gasped.

"What?" Daisy had asked, head tilted. "I know my date, I know it. I said, September 17th. I said it! If it's written down wrong-"

"It's not written down wrong," Hodgins had said, reading over Angela's shoulder, his lips moving silently in shock. "It's right here. September 17th. Daisy Wick."

"Then what's the problem?" Sweets asked, staring at Angela in confusion.

"September 16th,"Angela had read, her mouth barely moving, her voice shell-shocked. "Vincent Nigel Murray."

There they sat, staring at each other, looking from one to another. Even Daisy couldn't grieve her loss, her fingers shaking as she held them to her lips.

"It fits," Wendell had finally said, leaning his forehead into his hands. "It fits. I mean, he's the reason they're together, right? It fits that he would win."

"Maybe we should divide back the money," Hodgins had said tiredly, barely hiding the pain in his voice, resting his cheek on his palm. "Look, Angela has the list of who paid what, dating all the way to six years back. Everyone can win back what they paid."

And so Angela pulled the money from the envelope, dividing and giving back all of it to those there. "There's still..." she swallowed, staring down at her hands. "There's still Vincent's money. And 's."

Daisy had sat there, staring at the money in her hands, so little compared to what she was going to win, and somewhat so worthless. It was still a good amount of money – more than a hundred dollars – but she felt sick just holding it.

"I don't want this," she'd said, throwing the money on the table.

"Me either," Clark had said, shuffling his money and setting it down in a perfect little pile.

Slowly, every person sitting around the table had set their money down on the table, until more than a thousand dollars was sitting in the middle.

Silence had fallen, each considering the friend they'd lost, the friend who had not only been the reason their favorite couple was now together (and having a child!) but also the one who had predicted the exact date they would officially announce it.

"I've got an idea," Hodgins had said slowly, and they had all turned to him, listening, as smiles slowly spread across their faces.

* * *

She stared at the small section of wall in the corner of the lab as she bit her pen. Over the years it had become a habit for her to look at it, as she pondered cases, evidence, even her own life. The area in the corner had been officially inaugurated about a month after Christine's birth, and though her daughter had never met the man it honored, she still insisted on stopping to look at it every time she passed it.

"Mommy!" a voice called, and she looked down just in time to stop Christine's body from knocking her over. Small arms wrapped around her legs, and she laughed as she reached down to pick her up.

Knocked out of her reverie, she looked down the steps to the door, to where Booth stood. Even from far away, she could see the pride and love written all over his face, and her own lips couldn't help but curve into a smile. Picking up her purse, she walked down the steps, sliding her card to stop the incessant beeping Christine had caused, and when tiny fingers tugged at her hair, she took a slight detour to the corner.

Chrissy's hand reached out, resting against the cool metal of the plaque, the glass that covered the picture. Her fingers traced the letters of the quotes written around it, some in paint and some in pen, all by those who loved and cherished the man underneath the glass.

Her daughter became distracted as Booth let out a whistle, immediately kicking to be let down before running into her father's arms. Yet still Brennan lingered, her own hands reaching to trace the words she'd written. Yes, it was true that, even if it hadn't been for that day, she probably still would've ended up with the man she loved, the daughter she adored. And yet, she still felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude every time she saw the picture, a feeling that, if it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have the life that made her wake every morning with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step.

She let her fingers trace over Vincent's name before turning to the life he had set into motion.


	10. Just Not Tonight

**A/N: I have mixed thoughts about season 6. On one hand, those first thirteen episodes were pure torture to watch (Hannah can go die in a hole, for all I care). On the other hand, the last two episodes were enough to make me buy the DVD. So even though I have watched the whole season, I didn't much care for this episode.**

**However, I watched the ending of it today, because for some reason I was feeling angsty and moments like these make me happier, no matter how bittersweet they may be. A good two-thirds of this story is what actually happened in the episode...the 'what if' part is closer to the end.**

**If you're wondering, this is the episode where Booth proposed to Hannah (and we all know how well _that _went, not that I'm complaining).**

***The title comes from a song called "Not Tonight" by Kristy Lee Cook. It doesn't really have anything to do at all with this chapter, it was just stuck in my head. Taken out of context, the phrase actually summarized this chapter pretty well.**

**PROMPT: What if, at the end of "The Daredevil in the Mold", Brennan hadn't wanted to accept either of Booth's choices?**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned this show this episode wouldn't have existed at all.**

* * *

He sat at the bar, drowning his sorrows in as much alcohol his body could handle. His head was already pounding, but the memories were too clear in his head, so when the bartender poured him another glass, he didn't push it away.

He didn't look up, didn't even flinch as she pulled up beside him, sitting down as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You drunk?"

"Relatively," he said, swallowing. His muscles tensed with her presence, but he still didn't look at her. "Relatively, I'm drunk, meaning I'm drunker than usual. But no, I am not a drunk." The words sounded strange in his mouth, and the idle part of his brain, the one that absolutely refused to slur with the alcohol, wondered why he needed to clarify this for her.

She was quiet for only a second before continuing. "You sound...something."

He sighed, rolling his eyes upwards to try to keep the tears from falling. He had no doubt as to why she was here, as to why she was treating him in such a careful way...relatively.

"Hannah called me."

"Just..." he stopped, not sure how to put the feelings inside him into words. "I really...I...I don't wanna talk about that. Okay? I'm just, I'm over. I'm over it. I'm done, okay?"

She recognized his tone, the same one she had used so many times in the past. It wasn't forgiveness, it wasn't acceptance; it was pushing back all the pain and the brokenness and pretending everything was okay. She knew, because it was one she'd used so often, the kind no one ever fell for but that everyone respected anyways.

He tried to keep the tears from falling as she waited, again barely a second, before moving on. It was something he'd come to accept about her, about how different she was, but still it was only by a thread that he kept his temper.

"So...what happens next?"

"What happens next." He didn't phrase it as a question, more of a scoff, laughing at her. From the corner of his eye he saw her swallow, look down at the table before looking back at him, her blue eyes wet underneath her eyelashes. Mentally he cursed her, her ability to make him feel even guiltier even as he took his anger out on her. "I mean, you like evidence, right, Bones? Well, here's the evidence." The alcohol was beginning to affect his speech, the way he fought back his tears clear in his intonation. "The evidence is that there's something wrong here.

"Now, I...I fell in love, with a woman. I had a kid. She doesn't want to marry me." He barely paused, barrelling on through every relationship that had broken him to pieces. "Well, and...and then the next woman, well, she's..."

"Me," she said, and the word was so charged, holding so much more meaning than a two-letter word should. She didn't look away from him, her mind running through the night he'd nearly begged her to give them a chance, the night she'd pushed him away. Not because she didn't love him, not because she didn't think their relationship wouldn't work. But because that tiny possibility, the tiny chance that she might not be what he wanted, was enough to shatter her. He loved her, she didn't doubt that. But he couldn't, because what did she have to offer?

"Yeah," he said, "and now? I mean, what is it with women, who just don't want what I'm offering here?" It was only once the question left his lips that he realized that the question was the reason he was sitting here, drunk. It wasn't because he'd just broken up with Hannah. It wasn't because he'd spent so much of his money on a ring that had now sunken somewhere in the lake. It wasn't because once again, he'd found himself broken, left alone on the curb. It was because he couldn't understand why that seemed to happen over and over and over again.

"Booth," she started, but he cut her off.

"No. Just...you know what? Drink." He picked up his glass, clinking it against one beside it, before raising it to his lips. "I'm just really..." he took a sip, delighting in the burn as it raced down his throat, then nearly slammed the glass down. "I'm just mad. I'm just really mad at all of you. I'm just mad." Already a part of his brain was telling him to shut up, to just stop talking, but that part was overruled by all the intoxication. "Okay, so, you wanna know how this is gonna work? Okay, this is how this is gonna work."

She watched, in her ever-curious way, trying to be comforting but not knowing how, as he continued talking. "Me and you are partners. That's what we do. We're partners, all right?" His tone was a little angry, like he hated that, and he rushed to fix it. "And I love that, I think that's great.

"And uh, we're...we're good people who catch bad people, right?" The constant reiteration, the way he felt the need to tell her things twice, made her tilt her head, but she nodded along with him. The way he kept saying things, it made her wonder if it was because of the alcohol on his breath or because he was trying to convince himself of his words.

"Yeah," he said. And...and we argue. We go back and forth. We're partners. And sometimes, after we solve a case, we come here and we celebrate. That's what we do. We celebrate. So, as far as I can see, that is what happens next. Are you okay with that?"

She didn't answer, simply watching him, and he didn't wait, either. "Great, because, you know, if you are, I'll tell you what. You stay here and you have a drink with me. All right? Maybe we have a little small talk, chit chat. And if you're not, well..." The very possibility, that she wouldn't be okay with staying, with drinking with him, made his stomach churn."You can leave. There's the door. And, tomorrow, I'll find you a new FBI guy."

She kept her eyes trained on him, and that sane part of his brain wondered how she could stare at him, and not look away. "Those are my only choices?"

"Yeah, those are your only choices."

She thought for a minute, looking down at the glass he was holding, wondering why she herself felt so intoxicated with no alcohol in her system. "Because..." her voice was shaky, scared that he wouldn't let her finish. "Because...I don't want a new partner. But...I...I can't keep pretending this is okay."

The words got through to him, even through the layers of alcohol clouding his vision and his thoughts, and for the first time in their entire conversation, he_ really_ looked at her.

There she sat, hands trembling, lips pressed together in an effort to stop them from quivering too. Her eyes were shiny, just like his, her fingers curled. "I can't keep pretending it's okay that we've grown apart over these past months. I can't keep pretending it's normal for me to go home, pour too much tequila into a glass, and cry myself to sleep. I can't keep pretending that it didn't kill me to see you with her."

The words kept slipping out of her mouth, all the pain she'd lived through those past months leaving her in what felt like a cascade of emotion. "I can't, Booth. I just..."

It hit him, then, what she must've felt like only moments ago, watching him go on and on, because she was staring at the glass and he was staring at her. "And I can't pretend that this is going to be okay, either. I can't pretend I'm not a little glad she's gone, even though you're in so much pain. I can't pretend I don't hate her for what she's done to you, even though it's so hypocritical because I did the same to you so long ago, and I want to be the _exception_." She couldn't stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks now, barrelling on through her confession. "I want what you have to offer, Booth, I do, and I don't want you to ever think otherwise because how could I not want it? But I can't, I can't guarantee that you'll want what _I_ have to offer, and God," she nearly sobbed, "I can't ruin this, Booth. I can't ruin what we have."

And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was her words, maybe it was the realization that they were both in so much pain, the realization that they were finally in the right place at the right time. But whatever it was, it made him reach out, tugging on her wrist until she turned to him, placing her head on her shoulder as she cried.

Her tears dried quickly as his fingers smoothed over her hair, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "A time could come," he whispered, "a time when I'm not angry anymore, and when you're strong enough to let me in, and maybe then we could try to be together."

She pressed her face into his shoulder, letting his words become a promise, and nodded, breathing in his smell. "Not tonight," she said, summarizing everything he was saying.

"Not tonight," he said softly. "Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even this year. But one day."

"One day," she murmured back, and the promise wrapped itself around them. They weren't whole yet, but they weren't as broken either, and that possibility, that one day, gave them back the strength they needed to make it through the night.


	11. Nightmare

**A/N:**** Honestly, this is extreme angst for the first half. I don't know why this came to me, but it did, and I just had to write it, even though it's sad and horrifying and could possibly make you cry. But it ends pretty happily, if I can say so myself.**_  
_

**By the way, there are two weeks to Bones! Is anyone else in shock over that?!**

**DISCLAIMER: Nope, still don't own them.**

* * *

_She sits in the front row, anxiously smoothing her hands over the silk dress, stopping at places to feel her daughter kick. She hadn't wanted to sit so close to him, she hadn't wanted to be here at all, but he had asked and she couldn't refuse him, not even after everything that had happened._

_ Beside her, Parker gently pats her arm, and she turns to him with a smile of gratitude. He is the only thing that makes sense to her these days, sticking by her through everything. He gave up his place in this event to be with her, admitting that it was his own tiny form of rebellion; that he didn't quite agree with all of this._

_ Up front, Booth stands with his hands held loosely together, eyes darting over the audience. She wills him to look at her, to catch her eye, but whenever his eyes do land on her, they move on within seconds. She is just a member of the audience, just another person, and it makes her stomach clench nauseously._

_ The organ begins to play, and Parker wraps an arm around her, steadying her with an arm on her elbow as they stand. Heads turn to look down the aisle, but she can't help but keep her eyes on him for a little longer. His hands let go of each other, his eyes light up, and a smile slowly spreads across his face, a smile filled with so much love and pride it glows, a smile that used to be hers._

_ Unwillingly she turns her head to watch the woman walking up the aisle. With her blonde ringlets and blue eyes, she looks like an angel in the white dress. The dress that used to be hers. It has been taken in, of course, as it was originally sewn to hold an eight-months-pregnant woman, which is not the case for the woman now wearing it. She looks just as beautiful as she did nearly seven years ago, when she'd declined Booth's first proposal. _

_ The ceremony drags on, every word cutting into her like a knife, and then the audience once again turns, this time to watch a little girl – _their_ little girl – walk up the aisle. Every step is precise, and she is so beautiful, even in the horrid dress Hannah picked out for her. Christine had begged to sit with her mother - not because of Parker's reasons, but because of simple stage fright – but they had convinced her._

_ She holds out the basket to them, and they take out their rings before Christine puts down the basket and nearly runs towards her mother, curling up into her side and resting an ear against her pregnant belly. Still the ceremony drags on, as they exchange vows and rings. They kiss, but even though everyone else claps and nearly coos at the sight, the two children in the front row stay quiet, in respect to the woman in between them, with her eyes closed and who bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stave off tears._

_ Everyone is ushered into the ballroom as the reception begins, and she finds herself wandering around the edges. Parker and Christine stand with the newlyweds, and she feels a little push of pride at the sight: Parker stands with a serene look on his face, no smile to be seen; and Christine only really smiles when she sees her mother standing across the room._

_ She finds herself at the buffet table, her cravings refusing to let her eat anything there. She holds a plate in her hands, chewing on her lip and simply staring at the array of food._

_ "He's divorced, you know."_

_ The words catch her ear, and she stands absolutely still, listening to the conversation of two old ladies behind her._

_ "Divorced!" The lady sounds scandalized, as if a good part of the human population isn't divorced, as if this happens rarely. _

_ "Not technically," the first lady says. "He broke off an engagement."_

_ She tells her feet to walk, tells herself to turn away, but a tiny part of her brain tells her to stay, because she thinks that maybe, by some miracle, hearing her story in a stranger's words will give her some kind of perspective, some kind of understanding of the mess her life is._

_ "You see, he was engaged to this woman. Kind of pretty, but couldn't hold a candle to our Hannah." The two women chuckle. "God knows why they were together. The woman had no heart, no soul. They had a kid, because she, of course, wasn't careful enough. You saw the ring girl, right? Her name is Christine." The woman clucks. "Poor girl. No heart, just like her mother, cold and calculating."_

_ Her fingers clench around the plate, dying to turn around and yell at the women. Her daughter is _not _cold. Her daughter is smart and brilliant and loving, but not cold._

_ "Anyways, they managed to stay together for five years. The woman didn't 'believe' in marriage, but about nine months ago he convinced her to get married. Thank goodness Hannah showed up in D.C. Talked some sense into him right away. Told him, 'you can't marry that woman, you two will never make it'. He finally realized it, of course, and broke off the engagement. Not two months later, he and Hannah were engaged."_

_ She put down the plate carefully, slowly, and then walked as fast as she could to the bathroom. Her swollen feet hurt in her heels, but she can't take them off because that would be giving into the pain._

_ She sits in the bathroom for a while, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, pain ripping through her. How could they have gotten here? So little time ago, they had been together, and happy. He had kissed her good morning and good night and everything in between. Christine had gone to preschool and daycare and would talk excitedly every night about her day. They had a life, a beautiful one, a loving one, and how had it all dissipated into thin air?_

_ She leaves the stall, ignoring the stares of those around her, and splashes her face with water before reapplying her makeup. It is nearly nine thirty, and she decides to find Christine and go home._

_ The first thing she sees when she walks out is Booth, talking tersely to a man in a suit. Behind them, Hannah tries to play with Christine, but her daughter looks confused and slightly annoyed._

_ Booth waves her over, and she waddles to where they are. "Temperance," he says, the formality hurting her deeper than anything, "This is Hannah's lawyer."_

_ The man shakes her hand. "I'm here to talk about a custody agreement. We don't usually take these into court, since Christine was not born to a married couple. However, Mrs. Booth has expressed her wish to make this into an official contract. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, ."_

_ She swallows. "Meaning?"_

_ "You sign this, and the agreement is official. Christine will live full-time with Mr. and Mrs. Booth, and will visit you for a week every six months. Holidays will be negotiable. Once your daughter is born, she will be put into a similar contract after she turns one. If you refuse," he says, "we will dig into your past. We will find absolutely everything about you that you wish never sees the light of day. Not only will Mr. and Mrs. Booth be given full custody of Christine and your unborn daughter, but a restraining order will be filed against you as an unfit mother."_

_ The man snaps his briefcase together, turning to walk away. "Think about it, . It's our final offer."_

_ Booth turns to follow the man, and she reaches out one last, desperate time. "Booth," she croaks. "Why?"_

_ Booth turns back to her slowly, and she begins to turn into dust, into nothing, as he gives her a malicious smile. "Don't you see, Temperance?" he says. And as he says the words, the words that break her, she disappears into nothing._

* * *

He wakes when her hand smacks his face.

"Ouch," he murmurs, turning around and blinking sleep from his eyes to watch her. She thrashes on the bed, a steady chorus of "no, no, no" slipping from her lips. "Bones," he says, then again, more desperately. He straddles her, bracketing her hips with his knees and trying not to startle her or let her hurt herself, leaning forward just a little on her pregnant belly. "Bones!"

She gasps, eyes flying open to look at him, and then wiggles until he lets her go. She crawls out of bed, wrapping a robe around herself before leaving the room. She walks down the stairs and out the door, sitting down on the cold cement of the porch and pressing her forehead to the metal railing. The night is hot and balmy, and the cold distracts her.

He comes up behind her, sitting down and wrapping his arms around her. She leans back automatically, sighing a little as she allows herself to relax completely against him.

"Nightmare?" he asks eventually.

She recalls the nightmare haltingly, bit by bit, and he stays silent. Even through the moments that scare him, even when he feels the need to assure her, to tell her that he loves her and that she is okay, he stays silent. He knows she needs to tell her entire story, to let it out before it festers and breaks her from the inside.

"I was disappearing," she finishes, her voice fading, "and you said to me..."

He doesn't need her to finish. He doesn't know how he knows, or why he knows, but he just knows, exactly what that horrible, deluded version of him had said to her. "I told you that you were a consolation prize," he says quietly, disgusted.

She nods, hiccupping as she cries, and he turns her in his arms.

"You know I was lying, right?" he says. "That night, that night I turned you down and told you Hannah wasn't a consolation prize. I was lying. Everyone," he says. "Every one of them. Tessa, Cam, Hannah...they were all consolation prizes after you. Nothing can possibly be better than loving you."

She looks at him with tear-filled eyes, a shaky smile curving her lips. One hand grabs his shirt, and she presses her lips against his neck in gratitude.

So there they sit for a while, possibly minutes, possibly hours. Eventually she tires, and he stands, cradling her in his arms and gently leading her up to their room. And as she falls asleep, head on his chest and his heart in her hands, he takes her fingers and gently thumbs the diamond on her ring, pressing his lips to her hair. He remembers her proposal, her halting attempts at romance and beautiful metaphors. He remembers planning their wedding, the things both of them gave up. He remembers the dress he had sewn especially for her, the one that flows beautifully over her pregnant belly, the one that brings out her eyes and makes her skin look like porcelain. "I promise you," he murmurs to her as her breaths even out, "nothing can stop us from getting married tomorrow. Nothing can stop us from happy ever after."


	12. Sweet Revenge

**A/N****: If you're wondering why I haven't been posting as often, it's due to this not-so-great thing called school. And homework. And ugh.**

**Takes place after 8x01...no spoilers though, pure speculation!**

* * *

They sat in Cullen's office, idly waiting for him to arrive. Booth tapped his fingers against his leg, eyes darting from surface to surface, taking in the organization and the cleanliness of the place. Beside him, Brennan tapped out something on her cellphone, concentrated entirely on it.

"Bones," he said, and she looked up at him with bright eyes. "You know why we're here, right?"

"Yes," she said demurely. "The FBI would like to issue me an apology.

Booth struggled not to reach for her, clenching his fingers slightly. She'd been back for little less than a week, and everything she said made him want, irrationally, to kiss her...simply because she was there.

To say the FBI wanted to apologize to Brennan was the understatement of the century. Over the past week, the press had had a field day with her case, spouting out article after article. After all, no one gets away with wrongly accusing a famous author (causing her to become a fugitive for three months), not even the FBI. The press had slyly kept some facts to themselves, such as the fact that Brennan had been framed by Pelant, prompting them to create stories about FBI corruption, some plausible but most ridiculous.

"They're not really sorry," he mused, still watching her. These days, looking away from her was nearly painful. "They just want to clear up the press."

She didn't answer, although she did give him a quick nod as the door behind them opened, nearly five minutes after the meeting was supposed to have started. Cullen came in, Hacker trailing behind. They sat down on the opposite side of the desk, shuffling papers and folders.

"So sorry," Cullen said. "We got held up."

Booth tried not to roll his eyes. Yeah right. He knew the strategy well: they arrived late on purpose, establishing that they were worth waiting for, that they were still the bosses even though they were practically grovelling for Brennan's forgiveness. He filed away the information for later, planning to tell her afterwards.

To his surprise, she raised a finger, still tapping away on her phone. It was another couple of seconds before she finished, turning off the screen and smiling sweetly at Cullen. "Sorry," she said. "Just had to finish this."

Booth struggled not to laugh. He had no idea she'd caught on to the strategy, much less that she knew how to retaliate. She stared at the two of them with calm, collected eyes, and again he struggled not to reach for her.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we're here because we'd like to issue you a formal apology. We thought it would be more personal if we talked alone, rather than in a press conference..."

Booth tuned out, watching her from the corner of his eye. She was watching with rapt attention as he apologized with empty words, and he wondered if she truly understood that they didn't really care.

Cullen was just beginning to wrap up when her phone began to ring, the sound nearly piercing the air. "Excuse me," she murmured before answering, ignoring the look of near rage on Cullen's face. "Hello? Yes...can I call you back? Fifteen minutes? Okay, thank you."

Hanging up, she looked to Booth. "That was Robert."

"Who?" The word was nearly blurted from Booth, the confusion clear on his face.

"Robert," she enunciated, a glimmer in her eye telling him to play along. She turned to Cullen. "President of the University of Québec, in Canada. I was recently offered a job there." She tilted her chin, sounding like she was purely making conversation. "I've been told Quebec City is an extremely safe place. Wonderful for raising children." She gave Booth a smile, the vindictive part of her just barely concealed.

The look of panic on Cullen's face made Booth's lips twitch, just barely holding back a laugh. He knew exactly what Cullen was thinking: Booth would follow Brennan to the ends of the earth, and the FBI would lose their best team. He'd never live it down.

Cullen cleared his throat, regaining his composure. " , we'd like to offer you and Agent Booth a week's paid vacation, as well as your daughter's readmittance into our daycare facility. Is there anything else you would like?"

The edge in his question was barely softened, but Brennan didn't fall for it. "I think that will be sufficient," she said, nodding to herself. "Thank you." She stood, grabbing her purse, and Booth nearly tripped over his feet to follow her out, giving Cullen and Hacker a mix of a smile and a grimace as he went.

He waited until they were in the elevator to grab her waist, pressing her into him as his lips crashed against hers.

"Booth!" she protested, pulling back just enough to look at him as her hands landed on his chest. "What was that for?"

"Just because," he murmured against her lips, and when he kissed her again, she could taste his smile against her lips, sweet and sugary and so devastatingly wonderful.


	13. Silver Lining

"Ms. Armstrong!"

The teacher sighed, already making her way to where a young boy was rolling on the floor in tears. In front of him stood Joy Booth, lips quivering. As she drew closer, Joy wrapped her arms around herself, sheltering her body.

"She hit me!" Sam, the young boy, cried. "She hit me!"

"I didn't want to!" Joy's eyes filled with tears. "But he was being mean to me. He called me..." she looked down, unwilling to finish her sentence.

The teacher sighed, and then knelt by Sam to see if he was all right. She was more than accustomed to the Booth kids: she'd taught Joy's older sister, Christine, as well. Christine had definitely been more rambunctious, preferring to skip the thought process and going straight to hitting. For the entire year Christine was in her class, she'd gone home debating whether moving to Hawaii was a good idea, just to get away from her.

Sam was okay, but little Joy was still trembling with nervousness, so she picked up the phone and called her father. If there was any silver lining to having the Booth kids in her class, it was their father. Seeley Booth was tall, handsome, charming...everything she wanted for a husband. She knew he wasn't married, although she also knew both his daughters had a mother. She had, after all, met Temperance Brennan first.

Temperance Brennan was the complete opposite of Seeley Booth. She was blunt, never minced her words, and put everything under scrutiny. However, there was no doubt that Temperance was a good mother: the moment she walked into the room, Christine had lit up and run into her arms.

It was nearly dismissal when Seeley appeared, sitting down with Joy on his lap. They had a brief discussion, although she wasn't completely sure she got out all the details, as Seeley was wearing a t-shirt that was just a teeny bit too tight and that drew quite a lot of attention to his muscular chest and arms. By the end, he flashed her a bright smile that melted her before picking up his daughter and carrying her outside.

She walked idly to the window, shuffling the papers on the table beneath it in hopes of looking distracted. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Seeley put down his daughter, standing her up amongst the kids who ran and laughed and played in the foyer. He knelt in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders and speaking to her. She nodded tearfully, and he smiled at her.

The door burst open as Temperance Brennan rushed in. Spotting Joy and Seeley, she walked over to where they were, placing one hand on his shoulder and one hand on Joy's. They spoke in hushed tones before reaching an agreement, and Seeley said something that made Joy light up, nodding and smiling and hugging them both before running off to her friends. Seeley stood, saying something to Temperance, who nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips before turning.

The teacher watched, no longer keeping up her pretense, letting out a little sigh at the realization that all her fantasies would never come true. She watched as Joy ran back to her parents, a backpack bouncing on her shoulders, and skipped out in front of them. Seeley wrapped his arms around Temperance, turning her towards the door, and as she turned the teacher saw one detail clearly: the unmistakable bump of her belly.

Maybe it _was _time she moved to Hawaii.


	14. Never Alone

**A/N:**** This was written as a welcome break to reading Beowulf for English class (it's harder than reading Shakespeare, and that's saying something). Also, in celebration of the fact that, where I am, there are currently 28 HOURS AND 34 MINUTES TO THE SEASON 8 PREMIERE. If you're anything like me, remember to apologize in advance to any friends/coworkers/teachers you may be seeing tomorrow for your bubbly excitement and hyperactivity.**

* * *

"Booth," she sighed, "just put her in the stroller."

Booth didn't even look at her, still deeply absorbed at staring at little Joy, snuggled in his arms. She was fast asleep, waking regularly to cry for two seconds before her dad could calm her down and hand her off to her mom to be fed. He had absolutely refused to let her go, and Brennan idly wondered how his arms hadn't given out.

She sighed again, pushing on the stroller. Christine peeked out, watching her dad with curious interest. Brennan had bought the stroller for two with the very purpose of keeping both their daughters in it when they went out, as Christine was still young enough to tire easily and Joy, of course, couldn't walk. The stroller was handy and had been used for the past three months...until a week ago, when Booth had decided to never put down Joy again.

She couldn't deny that she knew the reason behind it. It was, after all, her fault. A week ago, Joy had turned the same age Christine had been the day she'd run away. Those three months had been painful for all of them, but it had definitely been hardest for Booth. He'd missed nearly all of Parker's life, but that had been even crueller. That was giving him a taste of all his dreams – of seeing his daughter every day, of kissing her good morning and good night, of familiarity and security – and then ripping it away from him. Christine had grown and changed in those three months, and although they were a very small window of time compared to the years Booth had spent being the Best Daddy Ever to her, they still hurt him.

And so, when Joy had turned three months, two weeks and five days old, he'd turned overprotective. He woke with every whimper from the baby monitor. He fed her whenever possible, refused to let anyone else change her diapers, and carried her everywhere. In some aspects, Brennan thought it to be sweet, and didn't want it to stop: he was, after all, just being a wonderful father.

But they were parents of two, and his overprotectiveness towards Joy was starting to take a toll on Christine. Although she still maintained her quietly happy demeanour, something had changed in the way their oldest daughter regarded her father, and it was clear she was beginning to feel abandoned. Although her mother showered her with love, Christine needed both her parents in her life.

And that, Brennan thought to herself as she pushed the stroller towards their car, meant getting her daddy to wake up to reality.

* * *

He spent an incredible amount of time just watching her.

He'd settled into a new routine that week. He still put Christine to bed and kissed her goodnight, but Bones took over story-reading duties, and he charged himself with taking care of Joy. He fed her and clothed her and kissed her until she was asleep in his arms. He put her in her cradle. And then he stared, taking in the miracle that was their daughter.

Yawning, he stood and made his way to their bedroom slowly, praying for her to stay asleep. She did, and he left the door slightly ajar as he walked into his own room.

To his surprise, Bones was still awake, sitting against the headboard with a book rested on her lap. The moment he walked in, she shut it with a sharp snap that made him wince, eyes focusing solely on him.

"We need to talk."

He moved slowly, going through his nightly routine, and she waited patiently, moving no muscle in her body but following him with her eyes. Finally, he ran out of things to do and crawled in beside her. She didn't lie down beside him, but she did pull his head into her lap, running her fingers through his hair. He rearranged his shoulders until he was lying on his back, staring up at her.

"You need to stop being so overprotective of Joy."

He sighed, knowing that this would've happened sooner or later. He wasn't exactly subtle, and it was only natural for her to notice. Her hand trailed over his cheekbone as she mused to herself. "I know why you're doing this. But you need to stop it. We have two daughters, not one, and this is not a deal where we each take care of one. We have to take care of both of them...together."

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm. "I know. I just..." he scrunched his eyebrows, trying to put all that pain into words. "I missed so much when Christine was gone. I don't want to miss a second of Joy's life. And I want her to know that I was there for her, every second of every minute of every day."

She moved his head off her lap, squirming downwards until she lay beside him, their noses touching and his arm wrapped around her waist. "Have you ever thought that, by trying to be there for Joy all the time, you're missing out on Christine's life?"

He stilled, the realization shocking him to his core.

"Christine was too young to remember those months in her life. In a couple of years, Joy won't remember these weeks, either. But Christine is old enough. It's very possible that she'll remember the way you're treating her now."

His breaths became shaky, and he buried his face into her neck. "Oh god," he whimpered, terrified. "Do you think I've been a bad father to her?"

Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck. "It's perfectly natural for the older child to experience jealousy at the introduction of a new sibling, one that the older child will now have to share everything with, materially and emotionally. However, because of the drastic changes in your behaviour this past week, it is possible that she will see your sudden...for lack of a better word, ignorance towards her to be her fault."

Her hands trailed down his back, taking in the way he trembled in fear against her. The very thought of being a bad father terrified him, and the realization that, in a sense, he had been one the past week made him want to run into his daughter's room and beg her forgiveness. He'd been so busy trying to keep one daughter safe and happy that he'd completely forgotten about the other.

"Just...make sure she knows you're still the same guy. You're still her father, and you're still the Best Daddy in the world. Make sure she knows that she's done nothing wrong. Please."

He nodded, and, still on the brink of sobbing, he drew his partner into a deep kiss and begged for her forgiveness instead.

* * *

Christine sat on her chair, legs hanging limply off the edge. She poked at the cereal in her bowl, watching the banana pieces bob in the milk. Across the table, her mommy watched her, spooning up her own cereal.

"Christine," she asked, "aren't you hungry?"

Christine shook her head, still poking at the cereal. The truth was, she hadn't been very hungry the entire past week. A lot of things had changed: her routine included a lot more of her mommy now than it did her daddy, and she'd barely even been able to see her little sister: she was always sheltered by their daddy.

But above all, there was one thing that bothered her the most: _she didn't know what she had done wrong._

It was the only explanation, of course. She must have said something, done something that made her daddy like Joy more. Gone were the days when he'd pick her up and carry her home when she was tired. Gone were the days when they'd wake early to make Mommy a big, unhealthy breakfast. Gone were the days when she, her daddy, and Joy would sit on the porch, naming stars whatever they wanted to and ignoring Mommy, who would tell them what the stars were actually called.

She bit her lip, pushing the bowl away. As she pushed herself off the chair, her mommy reached for her, taking her hand and pulling her into a hug. "I love you, Christine," she murmured, and Christine melted into her touch, drawing comfort from her arms.

She was about to leave the kitchen when her daddy sauntered in, and she did a double take when she realized Joy was not in her daddy's arms. Her mommy clearly noticed too, but she didn't look surprised: she looked happy.

"Good morning, Chrissy!" her daddy said, picking her up and spinning her, pressing kisses to her face. She squealed, wrapping herself tightly around him in a bear hug that he returned with gusto. The feeling of nearly being crushed – so unlike the delicate, gentle hugs her mother gave her – was so much of a relief, after a week of being ignored, that she nearly cried.

He put her down, and then exchanged a look with her mommy. "I called in," he announced. "I'm not going to work today. Instead," he knelt by Christine, running his fingers through her hair, "We're going to drive mommy to work, then go out today. She can miss a day of kindergarten, right?"

Christine squealed with joy as her Mommy nodded. "I'll go get Joy ready for daycare," she smiled, pressing a kiss to both her head and her daddy's as she left.

Her appetite came back with a vengeance, and Christine hopped back onto her chair, chowing down on her cereal while hardly breathing. Her daddy chuckled as he sat down across from her, taking his own bowl of cereal. Her legs swung ecstatically, occasionally kicking his knees, as she thought breathlessly of the day she was going to have. She and her daddy would go to the park, and the science center, and they'd have smoothies, and burgers and fries for lunch, and they'd stay up late and name stars, and they'd pick up Joy and take her to see something new, maybe the Natural History Museum, she hadn't been there yet...

"Chrissy." Her father's voice brought her back into reality, and she looked up at him with bright eyes, both legs stilling midair. "You know I love you, right?"

She hopped off her seat, leaving her empty cereal bowl behind as she flung herself into his arms, once again relishing in the tight embrace of his arms. "I love you too, daddy," she said, in a tone so like her mother's it made her daddy's eyes tear up. She wiggled out of his embrace, skipping out of the room to get ready, oblivious to the fact that behind her, her father was wiping away tears as he silently thanked the Lord that his daughter, so unlike him in so many aspects, had his heart of gold.


	15. Breath of Life

**A/N:**** If you can't tell by the double update within oh, an hour, it's because I'm really really trying to avoid reading Beowulf.**

**I recently watched Snow White and the Huntsman, and although the movie was...eh, I absolutely fell in love with the song at the end: "Breath of Life", by Florence and the Machine. And then I started writing, and well...this happened.**

* * *

She guessed that, from the perspective of the others around her, she must look like a madwoman. Her hair had escaped from her ponytail, frazzled and frizzy around her face. She was red from running and her chest moved rapidly, still trying to draw in oxygen. Blue eyes darted around the room, from face to face to face, desperation etched in her face.

Still, it didn't stop her from marching up to the nurse's desk, slamming her hands down on to the counter, and demanding an answer.

"Where is he?!"

The lady behind the computer looked up calmly, clearly not worried that the woman staring back at her looked like she wasn't above killing anyone who didn't help her. "How may I help you, ma'am?"

"Seeley Booth," she panted out. "Where is he?"

The lady tapped at the keyboard slowly, perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keys, and Brennan pushed down the urge of snapping the obviously-fake nails off. She shifted her weight constantly, still struggling to breathe, desperate for someone to tell her something, anything.

"Relation?"

"Excuse me?"

The lady looked at her over her glasses, eyes dull. "What is your relation to the patient?"

"I'm his partner." She licked her lips, knowing the word meant nothing to the lady. "He...we have a kid together. Christine. She's two years old. We're together."

"Are you married?"

She paused, hedging, the realization of what was about to happen terrifying her. "We have a child together."

The lady shook her head. "I'm sorry, but if you aren't immediate family, I can't release his information."

"I'm his partner!" Her voice shrieked across the room, causing various people to look up in shock. "We have a child! He's as good as my husband!"

"Miss, if you're going to behave this way, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, body trembling. She couldn't believe it. Not again. This couldn't happen again. She couldn't be shut out again, not after the last time, not now when they were so in love with each other. The terrifying thought – that they would only do this if his condition was serious – made her throat close up and each breath became an ordeal. Her stomach revolted, vomiting violently on the floor, coughing and choking. Her hand dropped to her belly, rubbing the barely-there bump that was their next child, their next miracle. She or he couldn't grow up without a father. Christine couldn't grow up without a father.

_She_ _couldn't live without him._

_**And the fever began to spread**  
_

_**From my heart down to my legs**_

_**But the room is so quiet, oh, oh, oh, oh**_

So lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the people around her. Other women, men, even children crowded, trying to help her up, trying to get her to breathe. One particular woman stood in front of her, a large belly taking up the space between them, words forming on her lips but falling to deaf ears.

Slowly she came back, as a man carried her to a nearby chair. Someone thrust a bottle of water into her hand and helped her swallow, gulp after gulp, and someone else pressed a cool cloth to her hand. The woman - the pregnant one – talked slowly, calmly. "It'll be okay. You and your baby, you're both okay."

Her hands dropped to her belly again, every muscle in her body still trembling, and she became aware of another voice. At the nurse's counter stood a man, arguing loudly with the lady behind the counter, but she was too tired to distinguish the words.

The pregnant woman leaned in, so her lips were closer to Brennan's ear. "That's my husband. He's trying to get the nurses to let you in to see your husband."

"Not married," she panted out, struggling against the urge to vomit again.

The woman laughed softly, kindly. "You should've lied. They probably would've let you in." Her hand smoothed Brennan's hair, and she fought back tears at the touch, so reminiscent of her own mother's. "It shouldn't matter. It's clear you love him very much."

"We have a daughter." She didn't know where the words were coming from, but they spilled out of her mouth, desperate for someone to understand. "She's two. She can't grow up without a father. Our next child can't grow up without a father."

"I know," the woman murmured, listening intently as the words, her story, spilled from Brennan's lips, mixing with her tears and her labored breaths.

**_And I started to hear it again_**

**_But this time it wasn't the end_**

_**And the room is so quiet, oh oh oh**_

It could've been minutes, it could've been hours, but eventually the man at the counter returned. "They're letting you in," the man said gently. "Your husband was just moved from the Intensive Care Unit. He's conscious."

She couldn't stand, couldn't move, and a wheelchair was brought her way. She was still in shock, hands gripping the chair tightly as she was rolled into an elevator, down a hall, stopping in front of a door...

She stood, seeing him on the bed. He was hooked up to a couple of machines, and if she'd looked closer she would've seen that none of them were too serious. His skin was blackened by bruises in places, his lip split, and he reached for her, and he was so close, his warmth radiating off him...

She took two steps and collapsed into him, sobbing, sobbing, both of them drawing strength from each other, both begging each other for the comfort only the other could provide.

Sobbing, sobbing, praying, thanking God, thanking the universe, whispering.

And then, blissful silence.

_**I was looking for a breath of life**_

_**A little touch of heavenly light**_

_**But all the choirs in my head sang no, oh, oh, oh...**_


	16. To Keep Her Safe

**A/N:**** Before I start, let me explain the change in the description of this story:**

**I originally began writing 'Hidden Moments in Time' to fill up the hiatus. Even though that hiatus is now OVER (thank God!), it doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing these. I'm much better at writing one-shots than I am at writing full-blown stories, as represented by the fact that I have not yet wrapped up All Of The Courage (and probably never will).**

**Also, I've pledged to be spoiler-free this season. I do watch promos and previews and may mention things in them, but I won't actually write anything important about an episode until after it has aired. That said, keep in mind that my spoilers now range from 1x01 to whatever the newest episode is (in this case, 8x01)**

**To the story! This is a short (like, really short) one shot based on the fact that the ending yesterday? Holy crap. **

* * *

He still couldn't believe she was home.

His hand trailed down her cheek, so lightly she didn't even stir in her sleep. She looked so young, so relaxed when she was asleep, so different from how she was during the day.

He knew her actions would leave a mark on them, no matter how right they were. They bickered, just like before, but lining their bickering was a serious undertone of real pain, real anger. Day by day, they drove each other crazy, but to a new level.

But at night, when she was so soft and pliant in his arms, it was hard not to regret the day. It was hard not to regret being angry with her, yelling at her, giving her the silent treatment like a child.

His fingers trailed down her arm and she sighed, lips opening a fraction to let out air.

The threat of Pelant still hung over their heads, although it seemed heavier over his. She lived in the present, focusing detail by detail, but he lived for her and any threat to her was worth freaking out about. He knew she wanted to protect him: her alpha streak was something he was more than used to. But it was hard to believe that she was more protective of him than he was of her: the thought of living without her, of going through those three months for the rest of his life, made his heart clench.

Hodgins had been right for letting Pelant go. Killing him would have made it impossible for her to ever come home, and that was more pain than anyone could ever handle, much less him.

But she was home now.

His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, sliding slightly up into her hair, and she sighed again, squirming closer. He rolled onto his back, pulling her closer, until she was wrapped around his side. His fingers trailed down her spine, cupping her waist; his nose buried into her hair, taking in the familiar smell of coconut and vanilla.

He had brought her home. And he would stop at nothing to keep her safe.

* * *

**If you're looking for something in particular, PM me or tweet me at speaknowbeloud . I'm looking for prompts!**


	17. Blushing

**A/N: A Short Story That You Don't Need To Read But That May Give You Insight Into This Chapter:**

**I'm taking English AP. Don't ask why (nerd alert). Our class was divided into five groups, each of which presented a period of time. At the beginning of the presentation about the Age of Enlightenment, three people were highlighted: Thomas Jefferson, Galileo, and some third guy I can't remember right now. At the end, we were asked to point out three scientists from this time.**

**Galileo was mentioned. That Guy I Can't Remember was mentioned. No third scientist was given.**

**Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. Probably something along the lines of 'I still can't believe Bones is back/ Booth and Brennan are perfect together / humming "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers.', because that's all I think about these days. Either way, I took one look down at my notes and raised my hand, still not completely in reality.**

**"Thomas Jefferson?" I said.**

**I'll never raise my hand in class again.**

* * *

Joy Booth did not like being embarrassed.

Everyone in the Booth family had a distinct way of dealing with it. Zach and Booth both hardened with sarcasm. Brennan and Christine never found reasons to be embarrassed: they didn't pay that much attention to social conventions.

But Joy Booth? She'd found herself with the most horribly perfect mix of her parents: the ability to know what to be embarrassed about, like Booth, but the inability to deal with it properly, like Brennan.

She slammed the door behind her with a sharp slap, pushing a chair under the doorknob so her sister couldn't get into the joint room. Distraught, she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face into her pillow and tugging at her hair angrily.

Oustide, she could hear the whispers of her family. Zach, only three, was too young to understand what was going on and was demanding food. Christine was complaining to Booth, who was doing his best to hush her. And Brennan was knocking on the door insistently.

"Joy?" she asked. "Let me in...ouch!...please."

She was quiet, still crying softly into her pillow as the calamity outside her door slowly calmed, and she found herself reflecting on the day.

Her mother had come to pick her up, which was clearly a disaster waiting to happen. Joy went to a Catholic school, which she and her dad had fought for, and Brennan avoided it at all costs. But Booth was busy, so she'd taken on the duty of picking their daughter up. She was not one to mince words or lower her voice when unknowingly insulting people, so her loud remarks about how Christianity was fake and ridiculous were heard by everyone, and the teacher's attempts at trying to explain their religion class fell to deaf ears. The kids had giggled at her mother, who spoke bluntly and made the teacher nearly lose her grip on her patience.

She'd always been a target for the kids. She went to a Catholic school, but her parents weren't married, which was enough to make everyone immediately prejudice towards her. Her mother followed no social conventions whatsoever, her father worked for the FBI and was uncomfortably overprotective, and everyone knew her older sister because she was extremely smart but also not very social. Add her own insecurity into the mix and what came out was a blubbering, blustering child who all the other kids made fun of near constantly.

She'd kept it together through the car ride. She'd kept it together through the walk up the driveway. But the moment the front door opened she dropped everything and ran upstairs, barely holding back sobs.

She rolled onto her side, listening as the knocks on the door changed. They became less methodical, softer, and a different voice wafted inside. "Joy? It's daddy. Can I come in?"

She walked unsteadily to the door, wiggling the chair out from underneath the knob until he could open the door and come in. He picked her up immediately, even though she was a little too old (and too big) to be picked up, carried her to her bed, and sat down with her on his lap. His hand brushed back her hair softly, rubbing her back to cure the last hiccupping sobs that bounced off her chest.

"I'm embarrassed," she whispered. "All the kids laugh at me. None of them like me."

His hand took her tiny one into his large one, engulfing it. "Why do you care?"

She looked through wet lashes at him. "Because they're my classmates. Because I have to see them every day. Because they laugh at me."

He pursed his lips, and then shook his head. "Nope. Not a good reason."

She furrowed her eyebrows at him, and he laughed softly. "Sweetheart, at the end of the day, what does it matter what they think? How is their hate going to make you a better person?"

She tilted her head, trying to process his words.

"The people who really love you, the people who matter, they'll never laugh at you. With you, they will, but never at you. And the people who don't love you? They're not worth caring about. If they laugh at you, if they tease you, then you turn your back to them. Don't stoop to their level. You are the better person." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I know you're the better person."

She sniffled and nodded, finally beginning to understand. "Thank you daddy," she murmured.

Against her hair, he smiled.

* * *

(10 years later)

"My name is Temperance Brennan, and I am Joy's mother."

Joy's classmates shifted in their chairs, coughing a little, very few of them actually focused on the presentation. Although most kids had these 'Parent Job' presentations when they were young, Joy's teacher thought it would be cool, as they were all seniors, to learn about possible careers.

"And I'm Seeley Booth, Joy's dad."

The girl beside Joy swooned. Her father was nearly sixty now, but he was still swoon-worthy. He wasn't as muscled and he certainly wasn't young, but his chiseled jaw and silver-speckled hair alone was enough to make nearly half her class sigh.

She hid her smile as the presentation began, already predicting what would happen.

Brennan went on in her stubborn way, nearly boring the class to sleep. Booth talked sarcastically and told little jokes that made the class giggle (especially the girls), and made her mother look at him angrily. They bickered about recounting cases and rolled their eyes at each other, and of course there was the classic: Booth mentioned a popular reference, to explain something Brennan had just said, and she countered with "I don't know what that means."

At the end of the presentation, after her parents had left, she and her friend Sarah packed up their stuff and left. The classmates around them mentioned little comments to her, stuff like 'I like your dad' from the girls and 'Your mom's kinda hot' from the guys. But as they neared the door, a tall, pretty girl (a typical 'Barbie', as her dad called them) scoffed at her. "Your parents are insane. Like, is your mom retarded or something? And your dad. Like, honestly. He's not hot, he's friggin old."

Joy smiled widely, not a trace of sarcasm or vengeance at all. "Hello, Meghan," she said before sauntering out in front of Sarah, who hid her smile at her friend's antics.

They were her family. They were insane and cringe-worthy and at times even slightly ignorant. But they were her family.

And they were nothing to be embarrassed about. Ever.

* * *

**For the record, I agree with Booth. Life is short. Yes, my classmates did look at me with that 'How the heck did you make it into AP' look on their faces. But I gave them a laugh (internally...they were all nice enough to remain quiet when I blurted out that stupid answer). And although I'll probably remember it for the rest of my life (stupid memory), they'll (hopefully) forget by last week.**

**Why care? Live life. Be stupid every once in a while. It's fun. Kinda.**

**Got a prompt? PM me or tweet me at speaknowbeloud!**


	18. Right

**A/N:**** Based on a prompt by Lliaaame: "Goodman, Booth, Brennan (9 months pregnant)." I hope this is somewhat what you were looking for!**

* * *

He wasn't honestly sure he was seeing right.

Blinking, he stared at the couple on the platform, shocked for more reasons than he could count. He hadn't seen them in six years. He hadn't known they both still worked at the Jeffersonian, never mind the fact that they were both still in Washington. Oh yeah, and let's not forget the fact that her belly stretched wide, as if ready to pop.

"Told you," Angela murmured, smiling smugly. "Pay up."

Goodman, shocked, reached for his wallet and slipped a twenty into Angela's outstretched hand. He made his way onto the platform, watching as people reacted to him: the interns stared at him curiously, not recognizing him. Cam greeted him kindly, if somewhat formally, since they hadn't really known each other all that well: he'd taught her basics about running the lab before leaving, but that was all. Hodgins greeted him warmly, although he lay off a bit at the familiar look of rivalry on his face.

Booth and Brennan didn't notice him until someone cleared their throat. They were too busy bickering.

She spun, a little too quickly considering how much her center of gravity must have shifted, and gasped. "Dr. Goodman!" Waddling her way over, she gave him an awkward handshake/hug. Booth followed, although avoiding the hug completely and simply shaking his hand.

"So much has changed!" he announced, still looking around the lab in shock. He hadn't really tried to keep in touch: after taking a sabbatical, his wife had found a new job in England and they'd moved. He'd worked in labs and various other locales then had been invited to a conference a couple of weeks ago. After finding out it was in Washington, he'd accepted the invitation and had flown over yesterday.

He looked around the group. There was little Angela had filled him in about: Zach was in a mental institution, she now had a kid with Hodgins, and Brennan had big news.

Big news indeed, he thought to himself as he peeked over at her belly, once again slightly shocked at its size. They walked to the diner, ordering food and chatting happily.

"Brennan went to Maluku-"

"Booth went to Afghanistan-"

"We spent a year in Paris! Paris, Goodman, Paris!"

His head nearly spun at the intensity of the information, six years of cases and personal relationships that led into an intricate, complex story that somehow explained why Zach was insane, Sweets and his psychology were pure crap, and Brennan was pregnant.

Although they tried to explain things to him, before long the large conversation split into various tiny ones, talking about cases and people he didn't know. It was nearly an hour later when people began to leave, and eventually it was just him, Booth, and Brennan at the table.

Brennan leaned back, running her hands over her belly. "How much longer?" Goodman asked.

"One week." She smiled proudly.

"She wants to have a home birth," Booth said, snorting.

"I want to be able to control the situation. A hospital is not as sanitary," she retorted, taking a sip of water.

"A hospital is safer. Tell her, Goodman. Isn't it?"

Goodman chuckled, throwing back a last sip of beer. He ignored the bickering and turned to Brennan, smiling. "He must be a lucky guy."

Brennan and Booth exchanged a glance, and everything suddenly _fit. _Every story about the past six years. Why a case about a hot-dog eater was more important about the case that apparently drove Zach insane (or something along those lines). The reason everyone seemed to hate a certain woman named Hannah.

"Yeah," she murmured. "He's a pretty lucky guy." And Goodman smiled, throwing a couple of bills on the table and leaving with a quick goodbye. He wasn't surprised when they barely looked away from each other: rather, he was thrilled.

A lot had changed. But finally, something had changed for the better. Something was finally _right._


	19. Tomorrow

**A/N:**** I'm still working on some prompts. In the meantime, please enjoy some B&B angst (with a happy ending, of course!).**

**Based on a Simpsons episode I saw earlier:**

**Flanders: "You mean you two still fight about how to raise your kids?"**

**Homer: "Of course! But we make sure to never go to bed hungry."**

**Marge: "It's _angry!"_**

* * *

The only sound above a whisper was the sound of the door slamming sharply between them. Still, it was enough to send Christine into tears, wailing in her room.

Brennan wiped tears from her eyes angrily, cursing herself for crying. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and steadying herself before heading to her daughter's room. She moved methodically, blocking out feeling: she pulled her daughter out of her crib, rocking her and hushing her softly until she fell into a deep slumber. Slowly she put Christine down, then padded to her door and collapsed onto the edge of her bed.

She'd bickered with him before, but never had it escalated to this height. She was used to ignoring him and both giving and receiving the silent treatment, but things had gotten out of hand today and she didn't know what she had done.

"_I'm just angry!" he'd exploded after she'd poked and prodded at him, asking question after question. "I'm just angry, okay? There's no explanation. I just am."_

_She looked at him, his tone making her rationality kick into high gear. "I did what was right for Christine, Booth. I had to do this for her."_

"_Did you even think about what I would feel? What I could've done?!"_

At first she'd appreciated his yelling, telling herself that it was just him letting out all his emotions. But then she'd realized _she _was angry too, and things had exploded into whispered shouts and screams.

"_Can't we just talk about this tomorrow?" she'd pleaded at the climax of their argument, exhaustion mixing with her adrenaline. _

_He'd just stared at her, eyes dull and body slumped as if he'd already given in. "I don't know if there's going to be a tomorrow," he'd said, toneless, inflectionless, before turning around and leaving. _

She held onto her control by a thread, heading to the dresser and pulling out her clothes. There would be no tomorrow, so she wouldn't wait for him to leave. He'd built this house, he deserved it. She'd maybe sleep a couple of days at the lab while she found a new apartment. Christine would probably stay here, it was better for her that way.

She pulled out folded clothes, piling them onto her bed methodically. She was surprised to find how mixed their clothes were: his boxers were in her pants drawer; her bra was stuffed between his shirts. She picked out all her things, working from top to bottom, and then she reached the last pair of jeans.

She tugged them out, and a piece of paper fluttered out from underneath. With shaking fingers she picked it up, unfolding it, dreading what she knew would be written there.

_Booth,_

_I don't know if I'm going to live. Rationally, I shouldn't. Hodgins says I have faith in you. Maybe that's what it is. All I know is that I believe you will save me. Save us._

_I wish I could've told you how much I need you. I'm scared of this feeling, but it's there, so alive and so intense I had to hide from it._

_Please forgive me, Booth. I should've told you a long time ago:_

_I think I love you._

She took step after step backwards, the memory searing her, choking her. She remembered being buried alive, the gnawing worry, the absolute trust she felt in him, so early on.

She loved him.

_She loved him. _

And then, she collapsed into sobs.

He drove.

He didn't know where he was going. The fancy GPS system could probably tell him, but he'd switched it off the moment he got in, not wanting to know.

His blood seemed to boil, burning his veins. He was angry at her. He hated that she'd left. He hated that he'd missed nearly half his daughter's life. He hated that she thought they could just fall back into routine, just like always, just like ever, when this was an entire new beginning. This wasn't just going back to the way it was. This was something entirely new.

But...

He cursed himself, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clawed back insistently. But, she was right. She had to leave with Christine: she couldn't go to jail, he couldn't live with her there. His stomach revolted, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly. And she'd asked him to stop fighting. She'd asked to wait until tomorrow.

And he'd told her he didn't know if there was going to be a tomorrow.

"Damn it!"

He bumped his fist against the steering wheel, then took a u-turn and drove back home

She was asleep when he walked into their room, curled amidst clothes, and his heart broke at the tear tracks on her cheek and the way her hair was mussed. He moved slowly, pulling away clothes and placing them ontop of the dresser.

And then he uncovered her hand.

Surprised, he reached for the paper curled in it, gently wriggling it from her gasp.

He read quickly, again and again, knowing when it was from without her telling him. He remembered how scared he was, knowing she could be dying, knowing she could be dead. It was terrifying, worse than anything he'd ever experienced before.

And he'd fought with her. Why the hell had he fought with her.

He started up with a vengeance, throwing the clothes onto the floor before curling up beside her. She startled slightly, red eyes lifting to look at him. "Booth?"

"Shhh," he murmured. "We can talk tomorrow."

Her eyes filled with tears. "There will be a tomorrow?"

He pressed his lips to hers fiercly, swallowing all her doubts. "Always," he promised. "There will always be a tomorrow with us."

She smiled waveringly before curling up into him, burying her face in his chest. "Never go to bed angry," she murmured.

"Never go to bed angry," he agreed, stroking her hair.

They were the center. And the center must hold.

And for the center to hold, there had to be a tomorrow.


	20. Sleeping Patterns

**A/N:**** A couple of words before I begin this story:**

**1) I'm still working through ****Lliaaame's prompts, which should be up soon, but I can pretty much guarantee you my next chapter will be based on drbrennan13's prompt, which involves Sully and which I honestly couldn't resist (making fun of Hannah and Sully on ff is one of my favorite pastimes, ever).**

******2) In response to drbrennan13: no, Beowulf is not that boring. I just like procrastinating. And complaining. It would be one of my favorite stories if I didn't have to analyze and explain it within an inch of it's life. **

******Honestly.**

******DISCLAIMER: If you think I own them you really need to see a doctor.**

* * *

Years in the army and the FBI had made him an expert at sleep.

He could make himself fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but he could also make himself float between reality and dreaming for hours at a time. He slept lightly, waking at every creak and murmur of his apartment. He even had a routine: every night, before he went to bed, he'd walk through the house and make sure every window and door was tightly sealed. Then he'd go through his nightly routine, shower and shave and pull on a pair of boxers and, on cold nights, an old t-shirt. He'd walk around his apartment one more time before climbing into bed. He woke every four hours to check again, just in case.

This, of course, was the routine for when things were okay. When a case threatened him, he'd wake even more often, his body accustomed to the little sleep and large amounts of caffeine he ran on. And that wasn't counting in the nightmares, which left his body sweat-covered and shaking, which kept him awake for another hour at least.

And then he met her.

The feeling was bizarre, insane. He felt the need to protect her, especially on nights where she'd be in her apartment and he in his. Those nights, when the thought of the case made his chest ache in fear, he'd wander his apartment again and again, no matter how tightly sealed everything was, because he couldn't guarantee her apartment was as safe as his.

For years this went on, with the exception of the nights he'd sleep at her house or she in his. Those nights were better, safer: even though they were separated by walls, they were close enough for him to feel her presence, safe and secure. He didn't alter his routine for her: he still woke every four hours, wandering the apartment, tip-toeing through whatever room she was sleeping in.

They slept in the same house now, every night, and nothing changed. He still woke up every four hours. He still checked every door, every window. There were only three things that shifted: a special room he checked extra-carefully, where his daughter slept in a crib under moonlight; when he went back to bed, he was always greeted by a soft, pliant woman who crawled into his arms; and those rare nights when he was startled awake by haunting memories of war, there were always soft fingers and gentle lips to coax him back into sleep, a warm body to hold and to run his hands over to remind himself that he was alive. That his life, no matter how hard it was to believe, was simply that wonderful now.

* * *

She'd been on many digs, and when it came to sleep, they were never pleasant.

She'd learned to sleep anywhere and at any time. She could curl up on the hard ground in the cold, she could stretch over the desert sand in the blazing heat, she could sleep while sitting and occasionally even while standing. Sleep was valuable, and it was something she definitely didn't take for granted: whenever she could, wherever she could.

Still, her body grew used to the lack of sleep, and even at the Jeffersonian, with a bed to crawl into every night, she still found herself going to bed at one and waking up at six, without a bother. The only change was when she was in a relationship: she still slept the same amount, but she came home more often.

On the nights where she was haunted by the faces of her victims, when she'd thrash and fight against the invisible holds of a murderer, she'd wake screaming and sweaty, breathing heavily and occasionally even breaking into sobs. They scared her, but more than that, they made her feel _weak. _So on those nights when she woke screaming with a man in her bed, she'd leave the room, ignoring their pleads and attempts to help her and taking a walk down the street before returning, after the man was already asleep. They never cared enough to wait up for her. Or maybe she never gave them a reason: she was, after all, independent. She didn't need a man to calm her down.

And then she met him.

She'd never been a damsel in distress, always putting up walls and barricades and saving herself. If anything, she was a knight in shining armor. But with him, there were conflicting emotions: on one hand, she wanted, more than anything, to keep this man: this man, who worked for the FBI, who had a gun (probably more than one), who could kill someone with his bare hands...she wanted to keep him safe, which was a ridiculous thought because he could do that himself. But on the other hand...well, sometimes it was nice to be protected by him, after so many years alone.

At first, when she'd met him and her sleeping patterns altered, she hadn't understood why. She'd associated the nights of sleeplessness during dangerous cases to worry and fear, and had gone as far as to discreetly ask the FBI to have an agent positioned at her apartment door, just in case. Yet still she couldn't sleep, even knowing no one could get in, even knowing she was safe.

And then, one night when he'd insisted they stay at the same apartment, she'd slept soundly and realized it: she wasn't worried about her safety, she was worried about his.

Those nights were her stronghold during harsh cases: she'd fight against them but secretly relished in them, in the pure, serene sleep that came when they were together. And after that night – when she became pregnant, when they finally threw caution to the wind and allowed themselves to _feel _– she came home every night to a man in her bed, a man who would curl up next to her and hold her tight. A man who, when she ran out of the room in tears and tried to cover the desperation that came with her nightmares, would sit in bed and wait patiently until she came back, gathering her into his arms and simply holding her, not saying a word. A man who would always wait.

And so they lived, and danced around each other, around the topic that connected them. They were no typical couple, both strong and protective, both trying to save the other even though they could save themselves. Maybe that's what kept them safe, during those nights. Maybe that's why they were so perfect for each other.

* * *

He wakes and crawls out of bed, and the shift of the mattress causes her to wake immediately. She waits until he leaves the room to check the clock: it is 4:47 a.m., exactly four hours after 12:47, which means he's just doing a round.

He walks through their house, checking all the window and door he knows by heart. He gives his daughter's room a quick once-over when he passes it, but when he comes back up the stairs, yawning, sleep already sinking into his muscles, he walks into it and checks that the window is absolutely secure. Then he pauses, leaning slightly on her crib as he watches her: soft skin, tiny petal eyelids, fingers curled into the folds of her blanket. He resists the urge to kiss her, afraid to wake her, and leaves.

He walks into their room again, closing the door tightly behind him, checking the baby monitor by their bed to make sure Christine is truly still asleep. Then he crawls into bed, his weight shifting it, and beside him his partner shifts, alert blue eyes staring into his serenely. She rolls onto him, and he giggles, still sleepy, rolling her until he is on top, and she snorts and rolls them one last time. There they lay, side by side, foreheads pressed together, legs tangled and arms wrapped around each other. No one is the victim, no one is the hero. They are simply equals.


	21. The Look of Family

**A/N:**** I'm planning on a triple update today. Think I can't do it? Watch and learn.**

**Let's start off with a prompt by drbrennan13: "one where sully comes back and B&B are together with Christine, Joy, and Zac" - hope this is somewhat like what you were looking for!**

* * *

"Temperance?!"

He faked surprise, widening his eyes and dropping his jaw slightly. In truth, he'd seen her sitting in the diner from across the street, and had taken five (okay, fifteen) minutes to decide how to react. It had, after all, been fifteen years, ten of which he'd spent at sea. After returning to land, he hadn't gone to Washington: he'd spent four years in California, enjoying the sea and surf and slowly saying goodbye. He'd returned five days ago, and had kept his eyes open for her.

She looked up from the sheets on the table and he watched the emotions play over her face. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened in shock – nearly fear – before she smiled and stood."Sully!" Her arms wrapped around him, decidedly friendly but certainly nowhere close to the intimacy they used to have.

He pulled back, and as she moved to take her seat he took one on the other side. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, then snapped it shut and smiled again.

"How are you, Temperance?" he asked, looking over her again. She'd certainly changed. Fifteen years had aged her face, and white hairs danced in her auburn locks. Her body was softened, no longer the slender, angular woman she'd once been, but her strength was still clear. There was something in particular that had changed about her, but he found it hard to put his finger on it.

"I'm good!" she said perkily, just slightly too happy. "And you?"

"Great!" he said. Reaching across the table, he took her hand, begging her with his eyes not to pull away. He didn't think she'd changed much, which meant there was no way in hell she'd settled down and very little chance she was dating someone. "I missed you," he admitted, looking into her blue eyes. Her face scrunched slightly, and again she drew breath to ask something.

"Mommy!"

A tiny bundle crashed into Brennan's side, and Sully flinched in surprise. Her hand moved in his, as if she planned on pulling it back, but he quickly tightened his hold, the truth not quite sinking in.

Her other arm wrapped around the tiny girl, pulling her up. She unwrapped her arms and sat down smartly, and Sully found himself staring at a young girl that bore a resemblance to someone he knew (although he couldn't quite remember who). Brown eyes, brown locks, a tongue caught between her teeth.

"Sully," Brennan said, "This is Joy. My...daughter."

Sully raised his eyebrows, trying not to let the shock show on his face. The girl looked to be around six or seven, and Sully couldn't help but discreetly take a glance at Brennan's left hand. No ring, which meant she'd probably chosen to raise the girl on her own. No surprise there.

"Hi, Joy!" Sully said cheerfully, keeping the strain as disguised as possible. "I'm Sully. I'm your mommy's friend!"

"Who?"

He turned, once again in surprise, to find a second girl standing by the table. This one was about ten, and she was clearly recognizable as a miniature Brennan. Smart blue eyes stared at her, the same angular jaw and thin body and look of slight confusion that came with social interaction. Beside her was a young boy, about three, a mix of his sisters. He looked up at Sully with big brown eyes, a tiny smile spreading across his face as Sully stared at him.

"Sully, this is Christine and Zach. Kids, this is Sully," Brennan repeated. "Tim Sullivan. You may call him ."

"Don't be ridiculous, Temperance!" he laughed slightly, and the hand still held tightly in his flinched. He didn't notice, too busy stretching his hand to the girl. "You can call me Sully."

The girl's eyes darted back to his hand and up again, and her free hand pushed into her pocket. He pulled back, surprised at how anti-social the girl was, as she turned to her mother. "Dad's locking up the car. He said we could go on ahead because he saw you in the window." She stressed the last words, and although Sully didn't catch on, Brennan did: he knew Sully was back.

The two kids climbed onto the booth beside their sister, ignoring the free space beside Sully. Brennan didn't argue with it, instead pulling Joy onto her lap.

"So," he continued, ignoring the kids. "You're raising three kids on your own? That's amazing, I mean, even for a woman like you-"

"A woman like her," a fourth voice said – one suddenly recognizable and that sent a slight chill down his spine – "Doesn't need to raise three kids on her own if she has someone like me."

Sully looked up to the familiar man standing beside him. Booth towered over him still, and age had changed him as well. Although the remnants of strength were clear in his torso and arms, he was much softer, comparatively. There was grey hair mixed in with his normal brown hair, and laugh lines lined his face. There was a familiar tinkle in his brown eyes, though: the tinkle he got whenever he was closing in on a case.

"Seeley!" Sully stood, shaking his hand. "Nice to see you. It's been a while."

"Fifteen years," Booth said, a slight strain as if he'd counted every day. "Nice to see you again."

"Hi daddy!" Joy said, waving happily to her father even though she'd seen him not ten minutes ago.

"Hi baby!" Booth reached across the table to ruffle her hair, and she giggled.

Sully took a good look at the girl, finally realizing why he thought he'd recognized her. The brown eyes, the brown locks, the way she caught her tongue with her teeth as she smiled. He could draw a straight line from her to Booth.

"Well," Sully said, trying to keep his blood from rushing to his face and giving away his embarrassment, "I should be off. Lots of errands to run today."

"Yeah, yeah," Booth said, not unkindly. "See you around?"

"Yep," Sully said, breathing shallowly. "See you, Temperance."

Brennan didn't answer, simply raising her hand and waving, a small smile creeping across his face.

He left as fast as he could without running, the muscles in his legs tense. Again he stopped across the street, turning around to look at the group huddled in the table, watching them closely. They'd rearranged themselves around the table: Zack was in his father's lap, Christine beside him, and Joy sat beside her mother. The kids were laughing about something, and Brennan was staring at Booth with a look that told she was amused by the way he reacted to Sully. He smiled back at her, unabashed, and his hand reached for hers, just like Sully's had so little time ago. This time, though, her hand met him halfway, and his flipped hers to rub his thumb across her palm.

He recognized it, the thing that had changed about her that he hadn't understood. He knew, as he turned around and walked away with thoughts of moving back to California on his mind, that the look on her face had been that of a woman in love. A woman with kids, a husband, a woman who went home every night and turned away her exhaustion to find comfort in the love she felt daily.

A woman with a family.


	22. You, Me, and Lunch

**A/N: Short but sweet, I hope! Based on a prompt by idkwhatthatmeans : " B/B make out session, jeffersonian, they get caught , or something like that." Needless to say I was immediately inspired!**

"Has anyone seen Doctor Brennan?"

Clarke wandered through the lab, watching as the team worked on a skeleton laid out on the autopsy table. Part of him missed this, the thrill of working on crime. But the new arrangement was wonderful to him: he had his own office, although it was kind of far away from the other offices. Most of the time he worked on old bones, especially the ones in bone storage, passing on the more important cases to Brennan. They consulted with each other often: when her interns were busy he'd help her out, and whenever he was stuck on a case, she'd give him a hand.

This was one of those times. He'd looked over the injuries over and over, but none of them made sense, so he'd come over to ask for help. Except she wasn't on the platform, and a quick check had made sure she wasn't in her office.

"She's in her office," Angela answered. "Or at least, she should be. You could always wait there if she isn't."

Clarke shrugged, deciding to take a closer look in her office. He tugged the door open, looking around and making sure she really wasn't in there. Sighing, he settled down onto the couch, opening the folder and flipping through it.

The office had changed back into the way it had been before, and he couldn't help but smile about it. He'd loved the office but he knew, like everyone else, that the office was hers. Even he had trouble erasing her from it: he'd look at it and see her everywhere, and something about her actually being there again made him happy. His eyes caught sight of a suit jacket, strewn casually across the back of her chair, and he wondered if they'd gone somewhere, assuming Booth was with her.

A clang and a giggle echoed through the office, and Clarke furrowed his eyebrows. He stood carefully; walking towards the discreet door in the corner he knew led to a bathroom. "Doctor Brennan?"

More giggles, mini-crashes. And then, a moan.

Clarke's eyes widened as he realized what was going on, and he took a couple of steps backward before turning and nearly running out. He didn't even notice when his knee hit the coffee table, too busy trying to hide the embarrassment – and the giggling – from the team outside.

* * *

His lips pressed tightly to hers, opening slightly as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. She whimpered slightly and he couldn't help but smile at the way he could make her melt against him.

His arms wrapped around her, lifting her onto the sink, not caring when something crashed down. She pulled back and giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him tighter against her. One hand ran down her back, pulling her hips close to his until there was no space between them. Her hands slipped to the waistband of his jeans, pulling his shirt out and running her hands over the warm, bare skin of his back.

He pushed her further back, nearly throwing her into the sink, and something else clattered down. She laughed again, and he laughed with her before leaning his head down to land sucking kisses along the column of her neck. Her head tilted to allow him access and she moaned happily, fingers running through her hand.

A sharp snap echoed from the office and her head snapped forward, turning to look at him. His eyes were still clouded, not quite focused, and his fingers trailed down her shoulder.

"I think there's someone out there," she whispered worriedly, pulling back slightly as he reached to kiss her again. He wasn't deterred, simply leaning down to press his lips against her throat again, focusing on her pulse point.

"Booth," she whispered, ending on a tiny whimper that drove him mad. His hands tightened on her waist and his tongue flicked out to taste her, feeling her heart beat fast, intent on making sure she forgot whatever had distracted her.

"Don't be ridiculous," he murmured, voice deep and throaty. "No one's out there. It's just you, me..." He pulled her to him sharply, and she gave a giggled shriek as her body crashed against his and her lips fell to his shoulder, sucking on his collarbone. "And lunchtime."


	23. You Make Me Run

**A/N: Third and final update of the day! Based on the fact that my brother was being a jerk yesterday and wanted to bet that B&B would break up by the end of the season (AS IF). Also, I was being nostalgic and rewatching season 2 today. The episode where Sully leaves isn't exactly one of my favorites, but Booth's line at the end is, so it was worth it. And then this wonderful song played ("You" by Fisher), and well...this happened.**

**DISCLAIMER: As usual, I don't own anything but the plotline.**

* * *

He woke sleepily and slowly, blinking away the cloud in his eyes. Yawning, he turned and reached for his partner, arms stretching.

And touching skin.

Shocked, his eyes flew open and stared at her. She was asleep, her face buried into her pillow, the covers wrapped somewhere around her waist. Her bare skin was slightly chilled under his fingertips, and he trailed them up towards her neck.

_**It's late now; time to sleep**_

_**Close your eyes; go to dreams**_

Working through their argument had taken time, and they both knew it wasn't over yet, but the fact that they'd acknowledged it was enough for both of them that night. She, desperate to fix things, had looked up at him with shining blue eyes and asked:

"_What's one thing you've always wanted me to do?"_

"_Whoa, Bones," he'd laughed. "Maybe you should clarify, because I don't think my mind went in the same direction as yours did."_

_She'd stared at him curiously for a while before it sunk in, and she laughed again, gently smacking his chest. "Not that way. I mean...look, you always tell me marriage is about compromise. We're not married, but we..."_

"_We might as well be," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. _

_She smiled, loving the way their minds flowed the same way. "Yes. And I...I am willing to change for you. I am willing to be someone different for you."_

_His fingers cupped her cheeks. "I love you the way you are, Bones. I don't want you to change."_

_Her hand reached up and took his fingers, pressing her lips to them. "I know. I meant...little things."_

_He'd smiled, saying the first thing that came to mind. "Sleep in with me."_

_She'd laughed, and then slapped a hand over her mouth as she realized she may have just insulted him. He'd laughed with her, though, trailing a finger over her lips. "You always wake up before me and start the day. I want to wake up next to you for once."_

_She smiled, knowing what he meant. She, unlike him, was an early riser. It was rare for her to waste time lying around in bed, even if it meant he'd wake to her. The only times she'd sleep in were the days they exhausted each other, rolling from round one to two to as many as they could, plus an extra one in the morning. Those mornings she'd wake at her usual time and roll back into him and into sleep, not caring about getting up._

"_Okay," she'd said, pressing a kiss against his jaw._

_**Your smiles;**  
_

_**Well they make my day**_

His fingers trailed further down, pressing against the small of her back. He loved waking to her, because she was so youthful in sleep. Her eyes were rested softly, her lips gently parted, her chest rising and falling in quiet breaths. She'd changed over three months, growing thinner the way she always did when he wasn't around, but she was still her. He still knew every curve of her body, every scar, every angle.

"_Why do you insist on doing things like cooking pancakes, like telling me about Christine and the carrousel?" he'd asked. "It...it hurts, Bones. Knowing I missed all that, it really hurts. I don't mean to burden you with that knowledge or whatsoever, but it does."_

_She'd tilted her head, tears filling her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just...I missed you so much. And I wanted you to know everything, I thought it would make you feel better. I didn't know it would make you feel worse."_

_He'd pulled her into his chest. "It's hard to accept this new you."_

_She'd turned her face, pressing her lips to his collarbone. "Would you like me to be the old me?"_

"_Yes...no," he'd sighed. "I told you I'd love you no matter what, remember? And I do. You've changed, and I'm going to love the new you. I know it. I just have to get used to it first, okay?" He smoothed her hair before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I will."_

_**You don't know it yet**  
_

_**But you're everything**_

She shifted in her sleep, pulling closer to him, and he smiled as she rolled into his arms willingly. A shiver ran through her body as she pressed her face tightly to his neck. "Cold," she murmured. "You...warm..."

He laughed softly, pulling the covers up over their bodies and warming her up with his lips and his hands. She smiled, her lips branding his skin, as she floated back into blissful sleep.

_She collapsed onto the bed beside him, panting heavily, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around them. He turned, laughing, and pressed his lips to her cheek before pulling her closer. _

"_Thank you," she murmured after catching her breath._

"_For what?" he'd asked, burying his fingers into her hair._

"_Fighting for me, for us." Her voice had nearly broken. "No one's ever done that before. Thank you."_

He pulled her even closer, cradling her head with his hand, unwilling to wake her. She sighed and shifted, and he trailed his fingers down her eyelids. Yeah, she was worth fighting for. The life they led, it was worth fighting for. The daughter sleeping in the next room, she was worth fighting for.

His family. They were worth walking through hell for. They were worth everything.

**_And you;_**

**_You make me run_**

**_And you; _**

**_You make me want to live_**

**_For you..._**


	24. Surprise

**A/N:**** Based on a prompt by Ciza: "the exact moment she or them realize they're having a baby (either of the 3 of them) and if it was unexpected it could be better xD!"**

* * *

She stared in shock down at the stick on the sink, eyes wide. She hadn't really expected it to come to something. She'd taken the test just to ensure this wasn't a possibility. And yet, it was.

She hadn't thought it was possible. They were much older now, too old for this to happen. Yes, they were both healthy. Yes, they had...excellent stamina. Yes, but they couldn't do this. This, it couldn't happen. It just...it just couldn't.

But it had.

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, her hand dropping to her belly. When she'd felt the first symptoms – the nausea, the dizziness, the aversion to food – she'd thought it was just the stomach flu. She'd recognized them from the past two times, of course, but she hadn't thought it was possible. She was just sick. Just sick.

Except the symptoms hadn't passed, so she'd bought the test. Just to check, just to make sure nothing was amiss. But something was.

A call came from her daughter's room and she ran a hand through her hair, sweaty. She stared at the pink line and nearly prayed for strength, hoping Booth wouldn't be shocked or disappointed with the latest addition to their lives.

_Please._

* * *

He came home to the smell of dinner.

He took a deep breath, loving it. It wasn't rare for him to come home to this – she hated making her kids eat refrigerated food, and both of them were great at cooking, so neither Christine nor Joy had gone without fresh, healthy meals.

But this was different.

He dropped his stuff by the door, looking around in near shock. Candles lit the dining room, leaving a soft shine over the table. Food was spread out in large plates, too much for their family. Although he had a feeling it wouldn't be their whole family at this meal – a bottle of wine sat in the middle, something never in the presence of their kids.

He leaned down to smell the steak, breathing deeply, and a chuckle came from across the room. He looked up to see Brennan, wearing the most beautiful red dress he'd ever seen, taking his breath away. "Knew you'd go straight for the meat," she chuckled. He made his way to her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Why all this?" he asked.

She paused, apprehensive, before smiling widely. "Let's eat."

He knew she was avoiding the subject, but he avoided it with her, sitting down and digging in. They spoke of little things: work. Their case. Sweets being annoying again. Angela's plan to go back to Paris over the summer. Their daughters' whereabouts (Angela's house).

They finished eating and moved to the couch, continuing their conversation haltingly. He was telling a story about a conference when he realized she wasn't really listening, her eyes zoning out. His hand reached to cup her cheek, turning her to look at him. "Hello there."

"Hi," she said, reaching to drag his fingers along the scruff of his jaw.

He leaned until their faces were less than an inch apart, his breath warm on her face and the taste of mint on his lips. "What's on your mind?"

She looked down, pressing her palm to his knee. "I have something to tell you."

He dropped his hand to her waist, pulling her into his side. "What is it? You know you can tell me anything. Everything. You know I always want to hear about your life."

She pressed her face into his neck and murmured something in a quick spurt. "Mph pmeghant."

"What?" He raised her head, tracing her lips with his thumb.

She looked away from him and spoke quickly, bluntly. "I'm pregnant."

His hand didn't drop but it stilled, and she pulled away to look at him. He was staring at her with such an intense mix of emotions that it nearly frightened her: joy and shock and hope and fear and worry and confusion and excitement and nostalgia. She watched them play across her face; and to her surprise, his hand wrapped around her and pressed tightly to the small of her back, pulling her to him sharply. She let out a tiny shriek as he crushed her against him, moving fluidly to roll her underneath him.

"Pregnant," he murmured happily, pressing his lips to her throat again and again. "Pregnant."

She laughed, turning his face to look at her. "Yes, Booth," she laughed. "Pregnant."

His eyes sparkled. "It's a girl."

"That's ridiculous, Booth. I've calculated that I've been pregnant for six weeks. There's no way to tell."

"It's a girl."

"There's no way to know."

"We already have two. Face it, your uterus likes making girls."

"That's ridiculous, Booth. My uterus has no choice over this."

"Just roll with it, Bones."

"I don't know what that – oh. Well...I think it's a boy."

"It's a girl..."


	25. Distractions

**A/N:**** Based on a prompt by Jenny: "You had a story about the betting pool / speculation regarding Brennan and Booth at the Jeffersonian but I'd love you to do the same with Booths Colleagues (and perhaps Hacker) at the Hoover and perhaps a little PDA on Brennan's part as I always felt Booth's fellow agents probably teased him about her. Whether its just your take on everyone realising they're in a relationship or also the pregnancy would be appreciated. " **

**Hacker, sadly, was not part of this story. For the purposes of my idea, I invented two new random people. Hope this is what you were looking for!**

* * *

The message appeared on nearly all of the agents' monitors at exactly 2:53.

_B&B are in the building._

The agents exchanged looks as discreetly as possible, knowing the message came from the doorman downstairs. He'd owed one of the betting agents a favor, so they'd convinced him to send them a message every time Agent Booth and his partner, Temperance Brennan, entered the building.

There were nearly fifty agents in on the bet. Some had been in it from the very first case; some had joined in recently. The stakes were raised nearly every month, sometimes by a dollar or two and sometimes by twenty. Agent Sam, who had been on it since the beginning, stood to earn nearly a thousand dollars. They changed the dates more or less every year, and his bet was on June 25...today.

Watching the two of them dance around the topic had been something nearly every agent enjoyed doing. The mood had changed, heating up and cooling down in what was nearly a cycle. When they'd come back and Hannah had followed, they'd been certain it had gotten to a freezing point. And then, to everyone's shock, Hannah had left and suddenly the heat had been turned up. The looks between them became more lingering, the touches more intimate, the smiles more shared. It had been thrilling for everyone in on the bet, as they eagerly waited for the day the partners would finally get together.

The elevator doors dinged and Agent Sam exchanged raised eyebrows with Agent Tucker, whose desk was in front of his. As discreetly as possible they turned to watch as the partners walked out, already bickering.

"Booth, you're being ridiculous."

"No I'm not, Bones! I don't want you spending money on me."

"But I can afford it-"

"I don't care. I'll feel like I owe you." Agent Booth leaned against the doorframe, raising a hand to massage his temples. "I don't want to owe you."

Temperance stood in front of him, looking down shyly. "You know," she murmured, her voice only barely reaching Agent Tucker's and Agent Sam's ears, "There are other ways to pay me back without using money."

Tucker's jaw dropped, but Sam, who was facing the partners, resisted mimicking the expression. The words were nearly innocent, but her tone of voice and the way she reached to play with his tie spelt out what she was implying in large, clear letters.

"Bones!" Agent Booth's voice dropped, and his hand reached to grasp her wrist. "People can hear us!"

"Not if we whisper." She smiled demurely, her hand resting on his chest. "We've done enough work today. Don't you want to go home?" She leaned in to whisper in his ear, and although Sam and Tucker couldn't hear them, by the look on Agent Booth's face they were far from appropriate for a work environment.

He swallowed, closing his eyes tightly, then gently pushed her away. "I'll grab my stuff and tell Hacker I'll be working at home for the rest of the day," he told her before turning away, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide the blush on his face.

Tucker looked up from his work, easily controlling the expression on his face. He turned his chair, smiling politely at Temperance. "Hello there, Doctor Brennan. Nice to see you around."

Temperance stared at him blankly, clearly not recognizing him, but nodded anyways.

Booth made his way out of the office, locking the door behind him and slinging a bag over his shoulder. "Let's go, Bones."

"Booth!" Tucker called, and Booth turned to look, eyes narrowing. He didn't recognize Tucker either (which made sense because they'd never really talked), but the friendliness Tucker exuded implied he should. "Look, man, it's my wife's birthday today and I promised her I'd take her out for dinner, but if I don't get this done in time I won't be able to go. You're leaving early, any chance you can just finish this stuff off for me?" He gestured to a pile of folders. Although it was small, both agents knew that the paperwork inside would be exhausting.

Booth swallowed, turning to look at his partner. She didn't say anything, simply staring back, before leaning in to whisper something again, her hand landing on his chest, and again Booth's face betrayed the dirty thoughts running through his head. She leaned back, pulling out her phone and tapping on it, and Booth turned back to Tucker, face red. "Sure, okay," he said quickly, voice tripping over his words.

Sam stifled his laugh behind his palm, watching as Booth stuffed the folders haphazardly into his bag before leading his partner towards the elevator. Tucker raised his eyebrows at Sam, the two sharing a smile.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention," Tucker said softly, pretending to call out to the partners who were sharing a smoldering look as the door closed behind them. "I'm not married."

* * *

**That's what you get for not paying attention to your fellow colleagues, Agent Booth.**


	26. A Walk Down Memory Lane

**A/N: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST!**

**This is a Christmas chapter.**

**Okay, I know half of you (ok, all of you) must be going WTF right now. It's not even Halloween yet. And yes...you're right.**

**But it's snowing in my neck of the woods and snow always makes me feel Christmassy, so bear with me. If you don't feel like reading something holiday-related right now (my dad hates anything Christmas-related before December 15th, so I can understand how you feel), maybe file this away for later. But it's snowing and I'm feeling kind of depressed because of it and this totally got it out of my system. **

**And I don't know about you guys, but the simple thought of Christmas always brightens my day :)**

**If it helps, I'll make you guys a promise: next chapter=something Halloween-y.**

* * *

She stood alone in the room, the only light the soft colors from the tree in front of her. Around her the living room was cheerful, although its decorations were hidden in the dark. She'd sent Booth up to bed a couple of minutes ago, claiming she only needed a glass of water, but now that she'd begun to look around she found she couldn't turn away.

How different this was from the way she'd been before! When she had been single, before she'd met Booth, her living room had not changed with the season, had not rearranged itself for a tree, an array of houses on the fireplace, popcorn strings. When she'd been single, Christmas had meant nothing to her, and so her living room had remained unchanged.

And then she'd met Booth. In those six Christmases she'd known him, before they were together, little things had become apparent. Gifts were placed under a potted plant the first year. The second, she decorated the plant with a miniature string of lights. The third, she took home the tree he'd gotten her family, placing it in the middle of the room and staring at it at night. The fourth she found herself digging up Christmas CD's, listening to the songs he and Parker warbled in the car. The fifth was the year she hosted dinner, and that year her room was entirely dressed up because of his help.

And then there was the sixth year, the year with Hannah, and her spirit had fallen apart. There was no tree, no decorations, not even gifts under the potted plant. She'd declined his invitations and found herself curled up in bed nearly all of Christmas day, not sad, not depressed, not anything. Just numb.

But then the seventh year rolled around, her first Christmas with him, and things changed drastically. He insisted on decorating, but she insisted on the expensive glass baubles from designer stores. Although he'd declined the idea at first, her hormones had gotten in the way and, joined with the emotion automatically associated to the season, she'd begun to sob at the thought of not being able to decorate the tree with him. It was no shock that she'd gotten her way after that, and even Booth had to admit that it was the prettiest tree he'd ever had.

The eighth year, the first with Christine, had brought along a child-proofed Christmas. Glass baubles were put away, exchanged for popcorn strings and child-proofed lights, plastic decorations and paper snowflakes. The room took on a childish air, and so did Booth (and, although she would never admit it, Brennan). They splurged on gifts for her, and on each other, and Christmas morning was spent on the floor of their living room, as Christine gurgled and screeched her laughter. He took her to church while Brennan cleaned up the mess and made pancakes, and a new tradition was born.

And so went the second year, and the third year she was once again pregnant. Emotions ran high again, and she cried when Booth presented her with a diamond necklace that cost about a month's salary and wasn't consoled until her daughter crawled into her lap and announced that if her mommy didn't like the necklace, she would wear it. The fourth year another little girl sat under the tree with her older sister, and that was the year Booth decided they should have a card. An entire day was reserved for pictures: of Joy, of Christine, of all of them, of just Booth and Brennan, of just mother and daughters, of father and daughters. The card was simple, the picture one that hadn't been planned: it was of Christine giving her younger sister a blanket, and Joy squealing with, well, joy. This card tradition, although Brennan didn't quite like it, had become a tradition, and remained in place up to today.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh years were spent in a similar fashion, the presents changing with every year. Although both parents splurged, it became nearly a routine for Booth to buy Joy's and Brennan to buy Christine's, simply because they knew what each daughter would like best. Booth became lost when wading through the science kits and experiments that Brennan and Christine so enjoyed, but Brennan was clumsy and awkward at finding the dolls and tea sets that Booth so loved buying for Joy. Middle ground was great: candy, clothes, books, things they could both buy, things both girls got in equal.

The eighth year she was pregnant for the third time, and with Christine old enough to shrug off the selfishness of childhood and embrace the giving of the season, she found herself pampered by her oldest daughter. Breakfast in bed was followed by making mommy open her gifts first, and she once again found herself struggling with her emotions when Booth presented her with a large collage-like picture frame of their family (including an ultrasound of their child in the corner). Even Joy was pulled in, happily baking cookies with her older sister and her father after church. That year was the first year Brennan attended the service, sitting through it quietly and thoughtfully. Although she made it clear that she did not agree with his 'mythology', she didn't argue against it either, and Booth couldn't put into words the ecstatic feeling he had sitting with his family in the pew: his wife beside him, head on his shoulder, his arm around her; Joy in his lap with her head tucked beneath his chin and her legs tucked in; Christine on the other side, sitting proper and prim but holding his hand.

The ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth years...all the years up to this year, the fifteenth. They were full of happiness, of spirit, of giving and receiving. Christine was now eleven, and was incredible at making do with the little money she had and coming up with extraordinary gifts. Joy, at eight, had a knack for creativity and spent hours weaving intricate designs with string and beads and whatever other scraps she could find, brightening the atmosphere of the mood. Even four-year-old Zach got into the spirit, happily holding his father's hand as they walked through the aisles of stores and found presents for their entire family. Parker visited often, bringing with him gifts from countries he'd visited for his step-sisters and step-brother; bobble-head toys and other assorted memorabilia for his father; and whatever heavy science material he could find for Brennan.

She turned around the room once more, taking it all in again: the village on the mantel, the soft lights of the tree, the beautiful portrait Joy had decorated, the brightly-wrapped gifts shining in the light. And then, behind her: him, arms crossed in front of him, a soft smile on his face like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

They stared at each other for a minute, communicating through nothing but sight, and he stepped around her towards the tree and flicked a switch behind the tree. Soft music wafted through the speakers placed strategically in the branches.

_Silent night, holy night_

He stepped towards her and placed his hands on her waist, her arms around his neck, and they stepped closer together and swayed to a rhythm as old as time, embedded within them.

_All is calm, all is bright..._


	27. Halloween is a Worry-Free Holiday

**A/N:**** I was bored, so I figured why wait to write the Halloween chapter? Enjoy!**

* * *

She insisted on being a princess.

Brennan ran her fingers through her hair, breathing out a sigh before leaning down towards her daughter again. "Sweetie," she nearly pleaded, "Are you sure you don't want to be a doctor? Or look, how about a lawyer?"

Joy wrinkled her nose. "No, mommy. I want to wear a dress."

Booth chuckled from where he stood with Zach, flicking through hangars with baby costumes on them: lions, tigers, bears. "Give it up, Bones."

Brennan crossed her arms, watching helplessly as Joy turned back towards the mirror and spun in her dress. After three years of watching her daughter wear horribly feminine outfits, she'd stepped in. Christine had never had a problem with the outfits Brennan had chosen for her: outfits such as a doctor, a lawyer, a prosecutor, an FBI agent. This year they were even dressing up as Wonder Woman together, both wearing the same outfit (although Christine's was dramatically more childish than Brennan's). She'd enjoyed playing the strong feminine role that her mother fit so easily, and had shunned the wedding dresses and princess costumes the other girls preferred.

Joy, however, was the opposite. Unlike her sister, she didn't want to be the heroine: she wanted to be the damsel in distress. She immediately gravitated towards the princess section: Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Belle. Her father had been thrilled, taking her shopping every year for a new outfit, but this year Brennan had put her foot down. "Stop filling her head with rubbish," she'd told Booth. "I'm sure that if someone would show her the more appropriate outfits, she would take to them quite nicely."

Booth had just smirked.

Unfortunately, he was right. No matter how many outfits her mother showed her – fire fighter, police officer, even a referee – she still insisted on wearing a dress. Brennan had immediately shunned the child-pageant type costumes, and Booth had agreed with her on that one: the simple memory of the case made both of them want to fold their daughters up into their arms and never let them go. The princess costumes, however, the fairy costumes and the angel costumes, they were all up for grabs. And no matter how much Brennan tried to deviate, Joy always ended up back at them.

She dropped to the bench below her, watching as Joy picked another five dresses and took them up to her daddy. It was a nearly helpless feeling, one that seemed to terrify her: what if her daughter grew up to be one of those spineless, thoughtless girls who never fought for their identity? Booth, of course, would think it ridiculous. "She's only four," he'd say. "She likes these things because of her age. Give her time to grow before you start freaking out."

But the mere thought of her daughter ending up so weak terrified her, and as she watched Booth bend down to talk to her, she wondered whether her worry made her a good parent or a bad one. Maybe Booth was right. Maybe she was too young to care about what she was going to be. She was, after all, completely dependent on her parents. It was no surprise that she insisted on costumes that followed that role, made her look innocent and childish, because she _was _innocent and childish. As she grew up, as she became able to take care of herself, she'd become strong. And anyways, Halloween was just a game, just a huge game of dress-up. Just because her daughter dressed like damsel-in-distress didn't mean she would _become _one.

But what if Booth was wrong? What if her daughter grew up spineless and thoughtless? Dear god, what if she got into an abusive relationship? Or pregnant at sixteen? The thought was horrifying. Not Joy, not her little girl, so happy and carefree. She couldn't grow up weak, she _couldn't_—

"Mommy?"

Brennan startled out of her thoughts, looking down to the girl in front of her. Joy stood smartly, still holding the five dresses, staring up at her serenely. "Yes, baby?"

Joy tilted her head and watched her for another minute before thrusting the dresses her way. "Which one's prettier?"

Brennan looked up at Booth in shock, then down at her daughter. "Sweetie, are you sure you don't want to ask your father?" It was, after all, her routine. Her father knew which princesses were the nicest, the prettiest, the best. Not her.

"I did," Joy told her, then dazzled her with a smile. "He told me to ask you. He said mommy would know. Mommy likes dresses."

Brennan placed a hand over her mouth, clenching her jaw to hold back the tears. The little girl in front of her had taken her father's word and immediately entrusted her mother with a task that was clearly very important to her, a task her father usually performed. The thought that she had so much influence over the little life in front of her, the pure surrender in Joy's eyes as she waited patiently for her mother to tell her which one was the prettiest, made her want to sob out in relief. She wouldn't grow up weak. The trust she showed was the same trust her mother had, the trust that had made Brennan strong. She would grow up strong, just like her mother.

She dropped her hand, blinking rapidly to push down the tears, and took the dresses from her daughter's hand. "Well, the pink one is pretty, but the _blue _one..."

* * *

She collapsed down onto the couch, exhausted, and Booth chuckled. Now she understood how her daughters always came home so weighted down with candy: she swore they had more stamina than she did.

Behind her came Joy and Christine, dragging their pillow cases and chattering excitedly. Zach hadn't been able to trick-or-treat, of course, but he'd been carried along in his adorable little clown costume, which Brennan had picked once Booth had announced he needed to be unique and dress scary, not cute, for his first Halloween.

Their daughters spilled out their pillowcases on the floor, immediately setting into the task of Organization and Trade. Booth would, of course, take a good part of the candy for himself, so that they didn't overeat, although the girls were the ones who would give up their 'taxes', as Booth called them. Unlike most kids, growing up with Brennan for their mother had taught them healthy eating, and although they still gave up candy reluctantly, they did it much more willingly than most children would.

It took another hour for them to trade, so Booth and Brennan went around preparing things for bed. Christine had worn makeup with her Wonder Woman costume, so there was remover prepared in the bathroom before bedtime. Zach was cuddled into a blanket and fell asleep quickly, tired out from the day. Beds were made and toothbrushes prepared, and in the end the four found themselves in the living room. Booth and Brennan went through the candy, picking out anything suspicious, before allowing their daughters to do their thing. Christine separated half – the set ratio – of her candy and handed it off to Booth, and he suppressed a laugh at seeing that most of her things were the crappy candy. Joy, on the other hand, had an interesting array, much different from the one she usually had: unlike her sister's, hers included chocolates and licorice that she loved.

She stepped shyly up to her parents, then looked up through her lashes at them. "I want mommy to have my candy this year."

Booth pretended to be hurt, but Joy didn't fall for it: she simply pulled a Brennan move, giving a pointed look at the lapful of candy he had before looking back up to him. It worked, and he laughed before gesturing towards Brennan, who graciously took the candy before swooping Joy up into her lap.

"Thank you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Joy's cheek, and Joy smiled bashfully before cuddling into her mother.

"You're welcome."


	28. Insane

**A/N:**** Based on something I heard in English class today. My teacher said (and I quote): "You're not really in love with someone if you haven't seriously considered pushing them down a flight of stairs."**

**This was after she told us true love is driving to the hardware store to buy a bag of cement to weigh down the body, mind you.**

**Short + sweet. I'm supposed to be doing homework but I had to get this out of my system first.**

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah no.**

* * *

She drove him insane.

His feet fell on the treadmill in steady steps, slowly increasing in tempo.

Crazy. Insane. Absolutely, positively, climb-up-the-walls, slam-your-head-on-the-table insane.

His speed increased dramatically, sweat sticking his shirt to his torso, arms pumping furiously at his side. When he'd felt his muscles tightening, he'd left, abandoning her mid-argument in favor of working out.

Because the truth was, he was terrified of hurting her.

Yes, he loved her. He guessed that was part of the reason she drove him insane. But when his fists curled and his forearms expanded with strength, he left, because he didn't know if he could control himself, and he didn't want to risk it.

_Like the Hulk_, he mused to himself. _This is what the Hulk must feel like._

_All the damn time._

He finally slowed, only to take a swig of water and head over to the punching bags. Deftly strapping on the gloves, he began. One punch, one kick. Bounce to the side. The other side. Punch, punch, kick. Bounce. Kick.

She drove him insane.

He couldn't quite remember what they were arguing about. That was the point, he guessed. It was probably something stupid, but something they both thought was worth fighting for.

_She was so damn rational_, he hissed to himself. _So damn rational. Why couldn't she just feel for once? Not care about the why or the how. Just freaking feel._

Punch. Kick. Spin, bounce. Punch. Again. Again.

He waited until he was prepared to collapse with exhaustion to quit. A quick shower, a change of clothes, and he drove home.

He walked slowly, quietly, unsure if it was a conscious effort on his part or if his muscles were just too tired to do anything else. It was good anyways, because he found her asleep on the couch, curled up, head resting on one arm.

Dropping his gym bag, he dredged up the last of his strength and slid his arms around her – one under her knees, the other cradling her shoulders – and carried her to bed.

"Hmm," she murmured. "Booth?"

"Yeah, baby," he murmured back, gently resting her on the bed. Her fingers clung to his shirt and he let her pull him down, curling beside her.

"Why'd you go?"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I was strung up," he said. "Didn't want to hurt you."

At this her eyes opened, hazy lakes of blue focusing in on him. "Booth," she said, voice low and serious. "You would never hurt me."

"I don't know," he murmured. "I'd never risk it-"

Her fingers trailed lightly over his forearm, stopping at his wrist before sliding them back up. She dragged them over his shoulder, down the other arm, stopping at his fingers. Sitting up, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, taking both his hands in hers.

"These are the most dangerous hands I have ever held."

He stared at her, entranced by her. The words she was saying, they scared him, but he knew, simply from the expression on her face, that this was a time he was supposed to listen, not to speak.

"These hands, they kill. They pull triggers. They can strangle, they can bruise." She looked away from his hands and looked into his eyes. "Booth, every second of every day, you have the capability of killing me.

"But," she continued before he could speak, "You don't. Because this..." her fingers reached for his head, then stopped mid-air. She chewed her lip for a minute, tilted her head, then reached down and tapped on his heart instead. "This," she said, "stops you every time. This, it's stronger than your fingers, your hands, your arms. This is what controls your actions. This is what keeps me safe."

He rolled her over, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and slow and sweet. His hand drifted up, holding hers against his chest, his heart strumming beneath her fingertips.

"Oh yeah, Booth?" she whispered, voice thick with sleep. "Don't call me baby."

She drove him insane. But she also kept him sane.

And as he drifted off into sleep, chuckling, entwined with her, he wondered if that, of all things, was the true definition of love.


	29. Heartbeat

**A/N:**** References to the last two episodes of season 3 here. Honestly why did I rewatch them? Why would I torture myself like that? Why? Why? *goes off to watch other heartbreaking episodes because i have a deluded idea that it'll get me through exams***_  
_

* * *

_Stand still._

He can feel every muscle in his body, stretched tightly over bone, tensed no matter how hard he tried to relax. He could feel his lungs burning in his attempt to hold still, his fingers aching to clench, to reach, to pull.

To touch her.

_She is so close._

He doesn't understand the way she stands, her jaw tightened, arms crossed over her chest. The part of him he is trying to distract from the sight of her compares the woman he is seeing to the woman he was imagining when he got dressed this morning. He wasn't quite sure what to expect of her. He'd made sure to put her on the list of people who had to be told, even though the FBI had warned him to tell the least amount of people as possible. Sweets had been on the list, obviously, since he was the one who had to tell her. And she was on the list, even though they warned her she shouldn't be. "She's just your partner," they'd argued. "She doesn't need to be told."

But he remembers the way her hands pressed against the wound in his chest, the way her eyes watered and her lips twisted in an effort not to cry. He remembers the way her voice rose and fell, between nearly shouting at him and whispering painfully.

He shakes his head as imperceptibly as possible. The memory makes him want to give up the charade; reach out and pull her close. Part of him was hoping she wouldn't be there, worried she would betray him by not grieving enough. He imagined her looking for him, betraying him by smiling or even going so far as waving at him.

The other part of him worried she would take the opposite stance. She'd grieve too much, cry too hard, yell at God. It was bad on one hand because she'd cause a stir, possibly enough to get his target to leave. But the main reason it was bad was because, even knowing she was acting, he would not be able to control himself if she sobbed. He'd give himself away, if only it meant he could hold her.

But this reaction...it was nothing like he expected. She was on the defensive, which meant she was hiding something. The way she spoke, angered, in short bursts...it was as if she didn't know. Was she really that good of an actress?

His target stepped forward, and he focused again. He could think about her..._talk_ to her...later.

* * *

"_You should've told me personally."_

He hasn't thought about that day for years, but something has brought the memory to the front of his mind. Yawning, he rolls, stopping when his knee bumps into her.

Moving as carefully as possible, he stretches out beside her, placing his hand on the soft curve of her belly. It's much too early to feel their child moving, but sometimes he likes to imagine he can. His arm stretches, reaches around her to softly curve around the top of her head, gently replacing her pillow with the crook of his elbow. She sighs in her sleep, shifting slightly, but the hand on her belly stops her from rolling onto her side.

He's imagining the way she looked at him, the pent-up anger in every cell in her body. She'd hated that he hadn't told her, that he had hidden behind protocol, and yet hadn't minded that Sweets had made a "professional opinion". It felt strange to him, that Brennan hadn't cared about his opinion but had cared so much about Booth not telling her, but it had also made him happy in a way it shouldn't have. He'd loved that he had mattered so much to her, that she wished that not anyone, but he in particular had told her.

He imagines the way she spoke, the vehemence in her voice just barely overlaying the pain. He sees the way she looked at him, the anger masking the betrayal, and wishes for the millionth time that he'd done more, to make sure she knew, to make sure she was okay.

He startles back into reality as he feels a soft kiss press against his bicep. He allows his hand to slip to her hip as she rolls onto her side, curling closer to him. "Why you awake?"

He smiles at her slur, his hand slipping downward to rub up and down her back, fingers stretched, from the spot between her shoulder blades down to just below the small of her back. "Thinking."

She yawns and murmurs, "'bout what?"

"Nothing. Everything."

She looks up from where her head is cradled in his arm, eyes opening sleepy and with annoyance clear as the blue. "Booth," she says warningly as if she can't stand him messing with her mind at three in the morning.

He chuckles, and she curls closer as his fingers curl into her hair, palm cupping the back of her neck. "Don't want to bother you. You need your sleep."

"Can't sleep anymore unless you tell me."

He looks down at her, and this time when she looks up her eyes are mischievous. He wrinkles his nose at her, kissing her forehead and allowing his lips to linger as he debates what he should do. Telling her would calm her nerves and rile her up at the same time, but it's no use lying or arguing with her now.

"Remember my funeral?"

He tries to sound teasing, sarcastic, but it doesn't work. Her eyes sober, and one hand reaches out and slips down his side before burrowing under his shirt, sliding up until her fingers press against his scar. He is amazed at the way she knows his body so well she can find the scar without looking, but at the same time he's not surprised at all. This is her, after all.

"I was surprised that you were so angry at me, and not at Sweets. It kind of annoyed me, but at the same time..." he presses her closer to him, "I was happy. I was thrilled that you cared about me so much, that you wanted me in particular to tell you that I wasn't dead." He shifts against her. "I wanted to, you know. So much. I remember...I remember the way you looked at me, just before I passed out, and I...I wanted to hold you. So much, so much."

She pulls away, sitting up slightly, and her other hand slips under his shirt to join the other, pulling upward until he helps her pull his shirt off. Smiling through the tears, she pulls him closer, enjoying the feel of his warm, bare skin on her cheek, the sound of his heart reverberating in her ears. "Hmm...I was so angry at you because it was easier."

He presses his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent. "Easier than what?"

"Admitting. Admitting that...I felt...more than what a partner should feel, and...you weren't ever going to know. That was all I could think of, that first night after. That you were never going to know. And then suddenly you were alive, and there, and I wanted to tell you but I couldn't. So I got angry. I yelled at you, I shut you out, because I couldn't have you. That was the only reason why, Booth, you have to know that."

He doesn't notice that he is crying until her lips press against his cheek, moving down the tear tracks. Her hand slips over his skin and she curls deeper into him. "That was the moment I knew, Booth. I'd...well, I'd kind of suspected before, knew that there was something more than friendship, but I didn't really..._know,_ until I realized I'd never be able to be with you. But when you came back, I got scared again."

"You shouldn't have been," he murmured. "I'd never let you get away."

His hand slips down to her belly again, fingers spread wide over the barely noticeable swell. "I'd never let you go. I will never let you go."

He falls asleep with the feel of her smile on his shoulder.


	30. Imperfect Perfection

**A/N:**** Follow-up to the last episode, therefore spoilers! Did anyone else melt at that ending? There were no words for how perfect it was.**

* * *

She found herself sitting in Christine's nursery, a slowly-cooling cup of tea in her hands. Her feet were tucked up underneath her, wiggling her toes to get them warm, and she curled deeper into the rocking chair before taking another sip of the chamomile tea.

Finding Booth in the living room in front of the camera had been impossible to walk away from, even though she knew with a certainty that the moment was an intimate, private one between him and Christine, even though Christine wasn't actually there. His words had hit her hard, and it was impossible not to throw herself into his arms afterwards, to feel his skin against hers. She felt guilty for breaking the moment, one she knew was singular and would be impossible to repeat, but she found it hard to regret, anyways.

She watched the baby girl in her crib, the slow rise and fall of her delicate chest, and thought over the gesture. His was much sweeter than hers: although a trip to a volcano would be nice for him and Christine, it wasn't the kind of intimate, personal gesture he had left for her. Part of her wished she could've done something better, but it was hard to think of something.

She barely realized her eyes were drifting shut until a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, cradling her against a strong, bare chest. Yawning, she leaned her head into his bicep, placing a kiss against his skin as the rocking of his steps lulled her. "Booth," she yawned. "When I die..."

"Hush," he murmured. "You're tired. Go to sleep."

"No, no!" She twisted in his arms as he sat down on the edge of their bed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead into his neck. "Booth, when I die, I want you to tell Christine that I loved her. I want her to know that. And..." she leaned back, moving until she was straddling one of his legs and her hands were cupping his face, staring deeply into his eyes. "I want you to know I love you. That I loved you until I died. Because I will, Booth, nothing can change that. I was wrong, that night you first told me you loved me, when I said I couldn't change. I thought...I thought I would have to change so that you could love me." She shifted again as he pulled her deep into him, shuffling them back so he was resting his back against the headboard. "I thought I would have to be different for you. I didn't realize...I don't believe in fate, Booth, but I do believe that we are...extremely compatible. I was right that I couldn't change, I just didn't know that I didn't have to change. We are already...well, perfect for each other. And we have created a perfect daughter. And if I die, and if you have to raise her on your own..."

"Shh," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. "Shh, baby, breathe." She took in a deep breath, her torso shaking, not knowing that she was sobbing until he told her.

"Booth, if I die and you have to raise her, she has to know. How proud I am of her, how much I love her, how much I want to stay here always."

"Shh, shh. "He pulled her deeper into him, her face pressing into his shoulder, the sobs shaking them both. Pure emotion coursed through her veins, and she sighed, falling asleep with tears still slipping down her skin. He shifted her, kissing the salty tears off her, then shifted so he could rake his fingers through her hair, from the crown of her head to the roots of her hair. "I know, baby. I know."

* * *

He never reshot the video. Years upon years later, when Christine would sit in front of her TV with her hand pressed tightly to her mouth and tears running down her fingers, she would see everything her mother had seen. She would see her mother's face in the corner, their reactions mirrored. And at the end, she would watch her mother throw herself into his arms, and she would watch him catch her seamlessly, automatically, instinctively. The same way she would remember his arms wrapping around her when she'd jump on him to wake him in the mornings, the same way he'd grab her when she was too close to danger, the same way he'd catch her when she took a running leap at him. His arms strong, protective, safe. Always.

The video couldn't have been more perfect.

* * *

**Second A/N: I made the ending a little vague cause I had trouble imagining how B&B would die. Number one problem was how - I'm hoping for old age, because that's the kind of long life I'd want them to have together - and number two was when: would Brennan die first, or would Booth, and how old Christine would be, and other details. My little B&B universe features two more kids, so would he leave videos for them as well? Stuff like that. In the end I didn't want to think too hard about that so I left it pretty vague. Fill in your own details :)**


	31. The Things She'll Move

**A/N: Did you guys watch last night's episode? Because oh, my, god. I still can't believe that episode. I really can't.**

**This episode does have slight spoilers, although there's not much actually to do with the episode. More fluff, really.**

**Based on the fact that I've been listening to Josh Groban's "Hollow Talk" on constant repeat, and these lines have stuck with me for about the past three days.**

_**There's never been bad**_

_**There has always been truth**_

_**Muted whispers of the things she'll move**_

* * *

_I can't change._

The words echoed in his head as he held her hand, pressing kisses to the tips of her fingers. She was just barely awake, her eyes fluttering as she tried to hold on to consciousness. Part of her was afraid to fall asleep, afraid to be alone, even though she was so incredibly tired.

It had been a week since she'd been shot, and it was her last night in the hospital. He'd promised to stay with her, the same way he had the entire week. She was clearly sick and tired of being there, but it was a small comfort to her, that he stayed every night.

Her eyes finally drifted shut, her breathing leveling as he continued to hold her hand. The words drifted through his mind, drawing him back to that day.

_I can't change._

He'd always separated their time together into three parts. The first stretched from the moment they'd met to that day. It was the period in which he'd come to know her, and unintentionally, to love her. All the times he'd saved her and she'd saved him, all the times they'd whispered hoarse confessions, little insights into lives they kept hidden. But that night had been the breaking point, those words the ones he should have ignored.

Because he didn't want her to change. He had fallen in love with _her_, and he couldn't love her if she was a different person, now could he?

The second part was the awkward stage, and encompassed everything after that night all the way up to the case in which they'd been stuck in the elevator. The worst part of all had been the time with Hannah, though. He'd been stupid, not waiting for her to come to terms with everything, and had desperately clung on to Hannah when she'd fallen in love with him. She wasn't _her_, but she was still a great woman. So he'd tried to force himself to love her, ignoring the fact that the woman he really wanted to kiss, to go to bed with, to wake up beside, was the one he was slowly pushing away in a desperate attempt to keep up his act. He'd broken her heart, and he still felt guilty when he thought about it.

The third part was still going on, still stretching in front of him. Although they hadn't started seeing each other immediately after the case with the blizzard, they'd been all but committed to each other after that night. _A time could come when you aren't angry anymore and I'm strong enough to risk losing the last of my imperviousness..._

The truth was, neither of them would dare risk that possibility of a future. They were both desperate for that time to come, and even though they'd both had chances to go on dates, they'd both turned them down. They were not going to allow anything to get between them and that future, no matter how far it might have been.

And they hadn't, and they were both so happy because of it. They'd held on all the way, until they reached their future, and there was nothing anyone could do to break them apart.

He pressed his lips against her cheek, then ran a hand through her hair and rubbed a thumb across her forehead. It pained him, seeing her here. She had always been so strong, so incredible, and he couldn't stand the thought that she was so vulnerable and weak now.

He watched as she twisted herself on the bed, her hand tightening slightly around his, before she settled and sighed out her breath. He was shocked that she'd quietly asked him to stay with her every night, expecting that she was going to send him home and insist he get some sleep. It was incredible to him that he'd let him stay with her, even pleaded for him to do so. He knew she considered it to be alpha-male behaviour, and that she'd encouraged it was the most loving thing he'd ever had her do for him.

She'd been wrong. She had changed, slowly but surely over time. She'd opened herself up to him, allowed him in, and then wrapped herself around him and protected him from the world. And he knew she'd tell him that it was impossible, that it defied physics, but he'd done the same for her. He'd opened himself up, allowed her in, and wrapped himself around her until she was safe in his arms. He loved her even though he'd never expected to end up with a woman like her, and they had both evolved together until there was no one else in the world meant for either of them except for each other.

They'd changed each other. And although they both knew there was still so much adjusting left to do, they also knew they were never going to give up on each other, no matter how hard things got. Pressing his lips against hers, he sighed at the feeling of her lips opening willingly under his, then chuckled when her hand slapped his shoulder. "Booth," she sighed quietly, tiredly. "Sleep."

He pulled his chair closer, resting his head against her bed, and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles as her hand raked through his hair. "Love you," she murmured, and fell asleep with the imprint of his smile on her palm.


	32. Alpha-Male Tendencies

**A/N: Essentially a companionpiece to the last chapter and the last episode. Enjoy!**

* * *

She ran her hands through Booth's hair, as he slumped over her body. Sighing, she rearranged the way he draped himself over her lap, her hand slipping down to rub against the edge of his jaw.

He had always been protective, but she'd always been independent. This time, however...this time, she'd asked him to stay, every night. The thought of being alone terrified her, and even though her brain said it was irrational to be afraid of staying in a hospital, her mother's words had broken down enough of her walls to make her act on the emotions coursing through her veins. _Please._ Her eyes had filled with tears, her lips trembling slightly. _Please don't leave me alone. Not tonight._

_Not ever._

He had stayed, of course. Every night. He'd slept in the chair beside her bed, occasionally stretching out beside her as much as he could without taking up her space or hurting her. He spent his days alternating between being by her side and trying to help the team solve the case. She always felt a little uneasy without him around, her body trembling slightly until he returned. Much as she hated to admit it, she felt so much safer when he was around.

But now, as she ran her hands through his hair, she wished she'd sent him home, much as it scared her. He was clearly tired, dark circles under his eyes, every muscle in his body relaxed in sleep. His breath warmed the sheet covering her. She traced his lips with her fingertips, and they flexed under her touch. His eyelids fluttered open, focusing on her, and he groaned as he straightened.

"Booth," she whispered. "You should've gone home. You're tired."

"Hmph." He skittered his chair over, until he could rest his head against the pillow beside her head. "Hello."

She giggled, wincing slightly when the motion hurt her abdomen. "Hello."

"I don't like seeing you like this," he muttered. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

"Ditto," she murmured, the unfamiliar phrase strange on her lips.

He looked up at this, eyes narrowing. "I'm not hurt, Bones. I wasn't shot."

Her fingers reached for him, dancing over his cheek. "You don't have to be shot to be hurt."

His face turned into her hand, his own hand reaching up to hold hers against his face. His lips pressed against his palm, inhaling her scent. "Oh, Bones. You know me too well."

He sighed again, rearranging himself so he was comfortable beside her. "You're a wonderful mother, Bones. Incredible. Christine, she is so, so lucky to have a mother like you. I was just mad because...well, when Parker was growing up, I missed so much. There was so much I wanted, but so little I got. Things like taking Christine camping...these are things I want to happen because they were things I never got to do with Parker. This time...I don't want to screw things up this time."

"Wasn't your fault," she whispered. "Wasn't your fault that you didn't get to be in Parker's life when he was younger. Booth," she laughed humorlessly, "you're an amazing father. That time when I asked for your sperm..." he laughed at the reference, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she continued, a smile now on her face, "I knew, somehow, that what would matter about having your child wasn't just that your child would be...extraordinary," she giggled, "but that I'd never be alone. I convinced myself I could be a single mother, but I also knew that, even if I offered to let you be completely unattached, you'd always be with me, by my side. You are an amazing father, already were even before I met you, and you're still as amazing as you were the day I met you. Christine could not have a better father."

"Or a better mother." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, large hands cupping her cheeks. "Christine is such a lucky girl. Such a lucky girl."

Her tears went unnoticed by both until they slipped down between his fingers. "I wish she could meet her grandmother," she cried, hiccupping softly. "I wish my mother could meet her."

"I know, I know."

She calmed, breathing in deeply as she clutched his fingers. "How'd you get so good with words?"

His lips twitched upwards. "Alpha-male tendencies. I need to be able to comfort my woman. Need to keep her happy." His hands swept down her face, rubbing her cheeks, her neck, pushing her hair from her face. He pressed kisses down her cheek and jaw line, then buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. "Baby," he whispered. "I don't want to sound rude, but...I'm tired."

She chuckled, running a hand through his hair again. "Go home, Booth. Go to bed."

But he was already asleep.

Sighing, she slowly, carefully moved her body so she could curve around him, his breath hot on her skin. Even when he was tired, even when he was asleep, even when she wanted to curve around him and hide him deep inside her, so no one could ever hurt him again. Even then, she still felt so much safer with him here, his large hand spread out over her belly, his other hand clutching hers tightly even in sleep.

"My stupid, silly, irrational alpha male," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead before she fell asleep, safe in his arms.


	33. Family Of Two

**A/N: Apparently I'm on a roll. I'm quite proud of myself, really. **

**This chapter goes AU after the season 6 finale. This is angst, angst, angst, up till the very end. The end is a little more happy...I guess...but yes. Still, enjoy!**

**Based slightly on the fact that TV Guide thinks that Booth and Brennan only got together because of Christine. Shut up, TV Guide, and actually watch the TV shows you're talking about.**

* * *

"Booth, I'm _fine_."

She is snapping before he even enters the room, his voice preceding him by seconds. _Where is she?! _She winces, running a hand through her hair, watching as he approaches her. He recoils at her words, but quickly recovers and makes his way towards her, slowly. His hands reach for her, but she bats them away, steely eyes staring at him. He pulls back appropriately before turning to the doctor. "How is she?"

"Booth, I'm fine-"

"She'll _be_ fine." The second word is pointed, although the doctor refuses to look up at her. "She's clearly under some stress right now, and I have no doubt that there will be an emotional impact on her." He snaps closed the file, and the couple flinches in unison. "For now, I'd like her to go home and get some rest. I'm recommending about three days of bed rest, minimum. If she feels better after that, she can resume going to work. Of course..." he pauses, then shakes his head. "Doctor Brennan, I'm going to ask you to go with Sarah, okay? She's going to get you all tidied up and ready to go."

Brennan looks up suspiciously, but when Booth tilts his chin towards the door and offers her a small smile, she gently pushes herself off the table and ever so slowly makes her way to the nurse standing at the door. Booth reaches for her elbow to steady her as she walks by, but when her muscles tense under his touch he pulls away. She looks down, her hair falling from her ponytail to cover her face, and she shies away from the nurse that leads her down the hall.

Watching her until she disappears, Booth turns back to the doctor. The doctor raises his eyebrows at him, then grimaces. "Agent Booth, I'm going to tell you the truth. I've noticed that your...wife? No?...she's very headstrong. She's not the type of woman who's going to want to stay in bed for long, and she's also the type of woman who's going to deny it when she's not okay." At Booth's stare, the doctor chuckles, then quiets immediately. "I've dealt with a lot of women like her, Agent Booth. Unfortunately, it's hard to prescribe one way for a husband...boyfriend...to act. Some women feel better when their husbands dote on them, others need their husbands to treat them normally." He shrugs. "You know her much better than I do, Agent Booth. My suggestion? Follow your instincts."

Booth runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply and blinking tears from his eyes. "Thank you, doctor." Without waiting for another word, he walks away.

* * *

She won't let him touch her.

It's subtle, the way she acts around him. She keeps at least six inches between them at all times. She pulls away when he reaches for the same thing she does. She balances herself by grabbing onto the walls, the furniture, anything but him.

It hurts, to be honest. He doesn't like watching the way she flinches, shies, does anything to get away from him. But most of all, he doesn't like the way she acts like everything's okay.

"I'll make dinner."

"No, Bones, it's okay. I already ordered Chinese." He takes off his watch, placing it in the bowl on their dresser and watching as Brennan pauses in their room. She's still dressed in the clothes she wore home from the hospital, her hair disheveled and makeup smeared.

"Oh. In that case...I'll go do the laundry."

"You did it yesterday. Bones..." he reaches for her, and when she shies away again, it takes a world of effort not to flinch. "Go grab the comfiest clothes you have, okay, and maybe a glass of...orange juice, or something. I'll run you a bath, and you can just, relax."

She watches him warily, his hand hovering inches from her elbow, and for a minute she wants to let down her defenses and crawl into his arms. The moment passes, though, and she nods, heading towards the closet. "Okay."

He's slightly surprised at the way she easily agrees, but it doesn't take long for him to realize that her easy agreement is simply to avoid him. He sighs, but goes into the bathroom and runs her a bath anyways.

He leaves her alone to bathe, walking downstairs and tidying up. He is determined to make the evening as quiet and comfortable as possible, so he works quickly and efficiently. By the time she leaves the bathroom, tying a robe around her, the room is already prepared. The bed is made, the covers on her side of the bed pulled back. Two trays rest on the sliding table at the foot of their bed, covered with cartons of Chinese food. A couple of her favorite books and newspapers are stacked on her night table and her phone rests within easy reach.

She stands at the door for a minute, watching as Booth lights a couple of candles around the room. It takes a couple of seconds for the smell to reach her, a soft lavender and vanilla, but the way he keeps the lamps on their night tables on tells her that the candles are purely to soften the atmosphere.

She moves towards the bed slowly, supporting herself on the edge of the bed and the wall, then sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed before pulling her legs up and slipping her feet under the covers. He pulls the covers up over her, making sure he doesn't touch her, then slides the table up over her lap.

They eat in silence, exchanging food as they go. Once they're done, he takes the trays and places the empty cartons on them, taking them down to the kitchen. He pauses at the door, looking back at her. "Bones..." he says, "just...relax, okay?"

She nods, settling back into the pillows as she flips open a magazine.

By the time he returns, she has set the magazine to the side and curled up in a ball. Her eyes watch him as he makes his way around the room, blowing out candles and changing into a pair of boxers. When he crawls into his side of the bed, she aches to touch him, but stays put on her side of the bed.

"Bones..."

His tone warns her of the direction their conversation is taking, and she shakes her head. "Booth, no. Not tonight. Let's go to bed and we can discuss this tomorrow-"

"Bones-" he reaches for her, meaning to touch her arm, but she shifts and he slips and his hand lands on her abdomen.

She gasps, her entire body curving away from him, and he pulls back as if shocked. They stare at each other over the space of the bed between them, eyes wide and teary. For a minute he believes she will finally allow him in, but within the next second she has rolled away, snapping off her light. "Good night, Booth."

He sighs, curling under the covers, still facing her back. His fingers stumble as they flick off his light, and their world is plunged into literal darkness.

* * *

Her weight is so familiar on his body that for a minute, he doesn't even realize that it should feel out of place. He breathes in, arm curling around the bare skin of her waist where her shirt has ridden up, the smell of her shampoo dulling his senses.

His eyes snap open, and he moves as slowly as possible to look down at her. Her hair is mussed, her lips dry, and when he slips his hand down her cheek he can feel the tear tracks left there overnight. Shivering, he pulls her closer, and her body automatically settles deeper into his.

When her breathing changes and her eyes flutter open, he pauses in fear, expecting her to pull away immediately. Instead, she looks up at him for the longest time, blue eyes still pained and red-rimmed. When her lips part she licks at them with the tip of her tongue. "Booth," she rasps, voice breaking.

"Oh, baby." She buries herself into him, hands clutching at his skin, face pressing into his shoulder as fresh tears fall down her face. His own tears spill unrestrained, hands smoothing down her hair as he presses kisses to all of her he can reach without disturbing her place on his chest.

Eventually they calm, and this time when he rests his hand on her belly she does not flinch away. Instead she pauses, watching him warily, as his thumb strokes her skin. She rolls to her back and he kisses her neck, his palm rubbing in circles up to her ribs and back down to her hips. She breathes deeply, rolling her head to the side to stare at him.

"Booth," she says, voice still soft and hoarse, "I'm so sorry. So sorry we can't start a family, so sorry..."

"Not your fault," he murmured. "Never your fault." He pulled her close again, intertwining their fingers and softly kissing her. "Bones...just...we can still be a family. We don't need a child to be a family. Just...please, baby, please don't run from me."

His voice is stark, open, raw, and she burrows into him. "I will stay," she whispered into his collarbone. "I will always stay with you." His hand lands on the small of her back, his lips press into her hair, and before she can yawn the exhaustion of the ordeal has swept her away and her sleepy weight is once again heavy in his arms.

"Thank you," he whispers, hand cupping her neck as he slowly drifts off after her.


	34. Splinters

**A/N: I was watching The Twist in the Twister and well...this happened.**

* * *

"Booth."

"Yeah, Bones?" He poked his head out around the corner, finding her standing at the end of the hallway by their bedroom door. Her legs were spread out to even the extra weight of her belly, but she was wincing, shifting constantly and favouring her left foot.

"Booth, I...I need your help."

"Kay, give me a minute." He stepped back inside the bathroom, rinsing out his mouth and drying his hands before making his way towards her. He reached automatically to her, one hand landing on the small of her back and the other grabbing her hand, gently leading her towards the bed. He was surprised when she took the opportunity to lean against him, resting her weight heavily on his side. She usually pushed him away, trying to prove that she didn't need help even though she was pregnant.

He led her to their bed, hand moving to her belly as she sat down heavily on the blankets. The bed was comfy, soft from so many blankets piled onto it. At this stage in her pregnancy, she alternated between feeling much too hot and freezing at night. Still, she had a tendency to curl up in her own little nest, occasionally dragging Booth over to her side of the bed so he could spoon her and spread his fingers on her belly, her own fingers resting over his.

"C'mon," he murmured, kneeling between her legs and pressing a kiss to her bellybutton before resting his chin on her belly and looking up at her. "What's wrong, baby?"

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname but didn't argue, setting off warning bells in his head. Her own hands drifted down to furrow in his hair, then massaged further down onto his neck. "I kind of...this is embarrassing."

He nudged her side gently. "Baby, what is it?"

She scrunched up her nose, then looked up at the ceiling at side. "I have a splinter in my foot."

He stared at her for a split second of disbelief before bursting into laughter. He fell back onto the floor, hand pressing over his mouth as he chuckled.

The laughter died away quickly when he looked up at her, though. Her demeanour had changed from embarrassed to teary in a split second. Her bottom lip trembled, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as her hands pressed against her belly. "Why are you laughing at me, Booth?" she choked out.

"Oh god." He stood up, immediately wrapping his arms around her and pulling her face into his chest. "Oh, baby, don't cry, don't cry."

She sniffled, allowing her arms to wrap loosely against him as her cheek pressed against him, the beat of his heart strong in her ear. "Sorry. I just...I'm quite emotional at this stage in my pregnancy, and I just...everything hurts, Booth. My legs, and my feet, and my head, and then I got a splinter and I can't get it out because I can't reach my feet, I can barely even _see _them..."

"Shh," he murmured, gently manoeuvring her backwards until she was lying amongst the blankets. He grabbed one off his side of the bed and placed it over her before taking the edges of the blankets she was lying on and pulling them up, tucking them around her so she was nestled deeply into her own nest of blankets. "Oh, baby, it's okay." He placed a kiss on her forehead before sprinting to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of tweezers and running a cloth under warm water before sprinting back to their room. He sat down near her feet, pulling them onto his lap, and massaging her left foot until she hissed and he found the splinter. As quickly and efficiently as possible, he pulled the tiny piece of wood out of her foot, grasping her ankle when she winced and flinched. Reaching over, he grabbed the cloth and wrapped it around her foot. She sighed, and he began massaging her feet again: small circles and long swipes from the heel of her foot to the pads of her toes.

Finally she calmed, curling deeper into her blankets and sighing deeply. He unwrapped the cloth and threw it into the nearby hamper, placing their tweezers on the night table before curling up beside her. She took a deep, shaky breath, then opened red eyes to watch him in adoration. "Thank you, Booth."

He smiled at her, leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead before allowing her to curl deeper into his body. "Anything for you, Bones. Anything for you."


	35. Lullaby

**A/N: ****Yeah, yeah, I know I'm a horrible person. But at least I finally put this up.**

**Follow up to Chapter 14!**

* * *

By the age of three, Chrissy knew how her parents worked. She knew they were a team, and that it was impossible for her to turn one against the other. She knew they bickered, but they never argued. She knew she could wheedle them down when she cared enough to try, as they were always headstrong with their convictions at first but always caved if she asked enough and with the right tone of voice.

She also knew how they worked separately. Her mother worked in an A leads to B leads to C way, and so when she wanted something from her mother she needed to tell her exactly why it made sense. Her father, however, simply needed for her to act in a certain way. She needed to watch him with large innocent eyes, she needed to make her bottom lip tremble in the slightest manner, she needed to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around him.

She knew that her mother would encourage her to be active, but it was her father who would really go all in and spend hours playing with her. She knew her mother would make her healthy foods, and although her father would encourage her to eat said foods, he could also be easily convinced to make her eggs with cheese, a bowl of Lucky Charms, or chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.

She knew that her parents loved her very dearly, as much as they loved Joy. She knew Joy was the cutest baby sister in the world, no matter how much her friend Sarah tried to tell her the opposite. She knew she could count on both her parents to kiss her goodnight and to hold her close when she was sad, to stand up for her when she was being bullied and to read to her when she was sick.

Yawning, she curled deeper into her father's arms. It was the place where she felt safest, held tightly up to his shoulder, his free hand moving soothingly up and down her back. The exhaustion of the day had leaked into all her muscles, and the quiet of the night around them, the soft sway of his steps as he carried her home, was enough to lull her deeper into sleep.

She had gotten all she'd wanted and more. She'd spent the morning at the Science Center with him, happily pulling him from exhibit to exhibit, letting him explain what was going on in his oversimplified manner, occasionally adding her own knowledge (courtesy of her mother, of course). They'd had lunch at an outdoor restaurant, bathed in the sun; they'd spent the afternoon playing in the park, between foot races and kicking soccer balls in the cool of the grass because the sun had heated the metal playground to the point where it burned to the touch. They'd picked up Joy and taken her to a local Children's museum, then gone home and made a huge, unhealthy dinner for all. And when the sun set and a cool blanket settled over their world, he'd wrapped her in jackets and blankets and they'd gone out into the backyard, laying a blanket over the grass before lying under the stars.

And now here they were, her body tucked securely into his shoulder as they crossed the yard. He bounced her slightly as they went up the steps, and then the soft murmur of her mother was in her ear as her body, heavy with sleep, was passed from her father to her mother. She yawned again, wrapping her legs as securely as she could around her mother's waist and settling her head against her shoulder, the sweet smell of lotion and the lingering scent of perfume filling her senses.

She didn't know if she had dozed off, but the next thing she knew she was being lain down onto the softness of her bed, the warmth of the comforter being pulled onto her body and tucked into her sides. The soft press of her mother's lips, the gentle pull of slender fingers through her hair, and then a change; a switch. The roughness of her father's kiss, his stubble oh-so-gently scraping against her forehead; a large hand, calloused fingers, palm soft as her pillow, cupping her cheek; the murmur of his voice in her ear. _I love you._

She didn't know if her voice was loud enough, strong enough; but she murmured it back anyways. _I love you too._

And although he didn't say another word, his smile on her skin was all the proof she needed to know he'd heard.


	36. Names

He was Booth.

She was Bones.

It was simple to them; easy. Others didn't understand sometimes, the way they managed to call each other by their nicknames all the freaking time, but for them it was matter-of-fact. It was just…them. Individual, special, unique.

Theirs.

He was Booth.

It was a strange development, but one he did not mind. Although he was used to lots of people calling him Booth – many of his coworkers, some of his friends – having her call him Booth was just…different. Much as he tried to push the feeling away, it was hard to deny that he liked her more than was healthy for a purely professional relationship. He felt…so much, when he was around her. Strong, like he could lift all their troubles away. Weak, like a drug addict that needed _just one more hit, all the damn time._ Happy, so blissfully happy that he wanted to spin her around and yell it out to the world. Angry, because she drove him insane, pushed his boundaries and forced him to reciprocate.

He loved her, much as he tried to deny it, and the way she called him Booth was still strange to her.

_Booth. _Her voice, amused, as if he'd just done something ridiculous. _Booth. _A smile stretched across her face, her voice giggly as she laughed at him. _Booth. _Her tone angry, annoyed, him having done something wrong again, knowingly or not.

_Booth_. Her lips moving against him. _Booth. _Her lips parted on a sigh…

Somehow it had surprised him, that she'd kept calling him Booth even after their relationship had developed. Part of it, he'd thought, had been that six years of habit was hard to break. But when asked, she'd shrugged. "It's your name," she'd said, so matter-of-factly he wondered why he hadn't understood before. "It's who you are."

But sometimes…

Sometimes, when he was tired and broken. When he was on the verge of falling over the edge. When he woke in the night, breaths coming too fast and feeling like he'd been hit by a train.

_Seeley. _The same voice, soft in his ear as she tugged on his arm. _Seeley, _as she let him support himself on her, her strength flowing into him. _Seeley_, as she pressed a kiss against his jaw and ran her fingers over every tense muscle until he was relaxed and sleepy against her again.

He was Booth. But he was also Seeley Booth. Seeley Joseph Booth. And even though he rarely ever admitted it, he loved the sound of his first name on her lips, comforting and warm and soft like a blanket, wrapped around him. Like she knew him, more than anyone in the world, more than himself.

He liked that.

She was Bones.

The name had been abhorrent to her at first, degrading in it's simplicity. _Bones. _As if he was relegating her to the sidelines, telling her she was nothing but bones, nothing but evidence, nothing but a pawn in play.

But it had grown on her, slowly. Bones. Before long, she saw it as less of a denial of her talents, less of a push towards the side, and more as a compliment. Bones. The structure of the human body, what kept it from falling apart into flesh and muscles. Strong and hard to break, but flexible as well.

_Bones._ His voice excited, for whatever reason – a new case, a break in a current case, a game won by his hockey team. _Bones. _A whine, his voice annoyed at being pulled into something he didn't want to do, whatever that may be. _Bones. _Stern, compelling, challenging her to whatever he had planned.

_Bones. _His groan in her ear, his touch skimming her bare skin. _Bones. _A soft sigh into the curve of her neck…

She hadn't been surprised when he'd continued to call her by her nickname, all throughout their lives, even as their relationship progressed into something more. The simplicity of it, the knowing, the way it felt unique, only his, was something she cherished. But she had been surprised when others had pointed it out, surprised that they hadn't become more personal.

It was the opposite of what people saw, though. People thought they were holding each other at a distance, that he was not quite letting her in when he called her Bones. But she saw it differently. He was pulling her closer, shielding her in the name.

And yet…

_Temperance, _he'd whisper when she was shaking with fear or pain. _Temperance, _he'd say seriously, cupping her jaw in his hand so that she'd look at him. _Temperance, _he'd murmur into her hair when her body collapsed against his, her face buried in his shoulder as her tears stained the fabric of his shirt.

Her name, it was a name that burdened her with her past, with expectations she did not want to admit to. Her name, it was a tie back to the parents that abandoned her, the mother she missed with every beat of her heart, and the father she ached for because she didn't know how to trust him, the brother she alternatively hated and loved with every change of heart. It was a name that pressed down on her, memories that made her chest ache and her eyes tear.

But on his lips…on his lips it took away the bad connotations, the inability to breathe, the lack of control over her own world. On his lips, it gave her a better sense of her own identity than anything or anyone had ever given her before.

_I know who you are…_

Their names remained an enigma to those around them. His whispered calls of "Bones", filled with such love and reverence that merely hearing the words felt like intruding on something extremely intimate; her murmured "Booth" 's that were so soft and caring that unless those watching had known better, they would've thought that was actually his name.

And yet, there was something so desirable and wonderful and perfect in hearing their 'real' names on each other's lips, something so warm and comforting that it made the other break apart into pieces, something that allowed them to let go in the only place they knew it was okay to let go: each other's arms.

Sometimes he was Seeley.

Sometimes she was Temperance.

They wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
